




















Glass 

Book 











































MODEM ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


OR 


THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


BY 

MISS CATHARINE SINCLAIR, 

i « 

AUTHOR OF “ MODERN SOCIETY,” “ CHARLIE SEYMOUR,” ETC., ETC 


“ Accomplishments have taken virtue’s place, 

And wisdom falls before exterior grace.” 

COWPKR. 


I 



NEW YORK: 

ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, 
No. 5 30 BROADWAY. 


1861. 


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PREf ACE. 


Nothing can be more injurious to a good cause than an indiscreet 
partisan ; and all men are eager to repress, if possible, or to disown 
officious zeal. With the best intention, such a person excites pre- 
judice against the very individuals whom he is desirous to extol, 
and testifies his attachment for them in the manner most offensive 
to their taste, and injurious to their interests. Religion, more es- 
pecially, has been exposed, without defence, to injury, from well- 
meaning, but imprudent and intrusive friends. In the eye of indis- 
criminating Christians, any strong profession of attachment to Chris- 
tianity sheds a sacred halo around the character, which deprives 
them of the courage to appreciate it by the ordinary standard. This 
readiness to acquiesce in hasty and unfounded pretensions, has been 
the source of incalculable mischief ; because the careless multitude 
are misled into forming their estimate of Christian excellence from 
the perverted judgment and glaring indiscretion of a few confident 
professors ; and faults of natural character, on a hasty view, seem 
identified with those holy principles, which, if rightly understood, 
would infallibly correct them. 

In the following pages, actual hypocrisy is not the subject treated 
of, because that odious vice has already been held up sufficiently 
to contempt. It is intended rather to separate the essentials of re- 
ligious conduct from its excrescences, — to distinguish feeling from 
imagination, — to contrast the hypochondriacal fanaticism of a dis- 
ordered fancy, with the purifying influence of an enlightened faith, 
— to show how frequently well-intentioned persons “ know not what 
manner of spirit they are of,” — how the Christian temper may be 
substantially contravened, while its dictates are professedly obeyed, 
— and how the language of Scripture may be perversely misquoted 
to support a line of conduct, which its benign and gentle principles 
uniformly condemn. 

An endeavor has also been made to illustrate the pernicious con- 
sequences of an undue prominence in education given to ornamen- 


IV 


PREFACE. 


tal above useful acquirements, when both proportionably to then 
relative importance might be combined in the same system. Even 
in the present life, all the glitter of brilliant accomplishments will 
be but a poor compensation for the misery of ill-regulated feelings, 
and of incapacity for mental exercise. To provide resources of 
constant happiness within, is incomparably more important than to 
derive a transient and occasional gratification from exciting external 
applause. 

Many good and worthy persons have objected to the elucidation 
of evangelical truth by fictitious narrative. They forget that if the 
Christian character could thus be represented as it is described in 
Scripture, rather than as, unhappily, it is too frequently exhibited 
in the world, much prejudice and opposition might be prevented. 
The mild, the persuasive, the dignified demeanor inculcated and in- 
spired by the grace of God, would be more readily appreciated ; 
while the austerity of disposition, the aversion to control, the prone- 
ness to interference, the affected language, the discontent, the self- 
complacency, and the positiveness, which so frequently assume the 
holy name of religion, being discountenanced as they deserve, would 
impede no longer that all-important cause which they are profess- 
edly eager to advance. Nor let it be forgotten that our Divine 
Teacher himself has sanctioned, by his use of parables, the employ- 
ment of imaginary histories to illustrate and enforce religious duty. 

Nothing places abstract truth more vividly before the mind, than 
to see it represented acting and conversing in real life. No doubt 
higher honor may be acquired, and more extensive benefit conferred 
in the graver and more serious departments of composition ; yet, to 
attain some degree of usefulness by the humblest work of fiction, 
must be ranked among the objects of legitimate ambition, howevei 
faint or unfounded may be the hope of success. 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 


And even while fashion’s brightest arts decoy, 

The heart distrusting, asks if this be joy. 

Goldsmith. 

There never were two ladies more fitted to adorn the 
fashionable world in Edinburgh, than Lady Fitz-Patrick 
and Lady Howard, who both usually came, with their fa- 
milies, in November, to spend a part of the winter at 
their town residences in Moray Place. Every body knew 
them, and they knew every body ; their equipages, their 
jewels, their houses, and their establishments, were beyond 
the possibility of competition or criticism ; and if each 
person’s happiness were really to be measured by the opinion 
and report of others, we need only repeat what was daily 
remarked in every boudoir and drawing-room where their 
names were mentioned, that nothing could be more fortu- 
nate or more enviable than they both were, as they appeared 
to have taken out a patent for avoiding all the ordinary vexa- 
tions and discomfitures of life. These ladies were sisters, 
and their chief object in coming to Edinburgh, when our 
story begins, was to give a last polish to the education of 
their two eldest daughters, who were now at an age to re- 
quire what is emphatically termed a finishing ; few mothers 
' being of opinion with the good divine, who remarks that 
the education of man can never be finished during the pre- 
sent state of existence. The boys of both families were 
scattered all over England at various public and preparatory 
schools, from whence they only returned, to riot during the 
holidays at home ; but Eleanor Fitz-Patrick and Matilda 
Howard having both recently attained the age of sixteen, 
were now far advanced in education, according to the views 
which were entertained on the subject by their respective 


6 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


mothers, whose methods and ideas, however, were as widely 
at variance on the management of children, as on eyery 
other subject where fashion had established no certain and 
despotic law. 

Lady Fitz-Patrick had once been the most celebrated 
beauty of her day, and having preserved her sylph-like 
figure and bright hazel eyes, lighted up with the assistance 
of rouge, she still maintained an opinion, that to feel young 
was the same as to be young ; therefore her costume was 
as juvenile as ever. She disdained the use of caps or tur- 
bans, but wore her dark hair dressed with jewels, and 
piqued herself upon leading the “ best dressed life” in the 
world of fashion, where existence itself seemed to her a joy- 
ous carnival of continued and uninterrupted festivity. Her 
whole time and thoughts were engrossed in preparing to 
receive visitors, and in attracting admiration when they 
came. She was all fascination for strangers , but unfortu- 
nately the more nearly people were connected with her, the 
less she cared for their good opinion, — her heart might be 
compared to a well-frequented hotel, where the last comers 
were always the most welcome,^ — her conversation, her 
music, her dress, and her smiles, were all put on, like her 
diamonds, for public display ; but when her husband or fa- 
mily wished to share in private, what was so lavishly be- 
stowed on every one else, she complained of being languid, 
nervous, indisposed, or any thing that gave her an excuse 
for being indolent and ennuyte. In short, this lady was, 
as she wished to be, the idol of all her mere general ac- 
quaintances, who remarked with astonishment and disap- 
probation how carelessly Sir Richard listened to their rap- 
turous praises of her lively and captivating manners, and 
how immediately he turned off the subject when the grace 
and vivacity of his wife became, as it frequently did, the 
topic of an unqualified panegyric. Sir Richard Fitz-Patrick 
was an easy indolent man, fond of good eating and luxu- 
rious living, who often found his own table in such a racket 
of confusion, or else so delivered up to dulness, that he 
dined frequently at the club when he could escape from 
home ; and his children only saw their mother when they 
were fantastically dressed in the evening, in order to dis- 
play their various accomplishments, like so many little fan 
toccini, for the amusement of the company. 

Lady Fitz-Patrick’s house was the surest avenue to good 
society in Edinburgh, and whatever individual was intro- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


1 


duced by her. might be as certain of rapid circulation as 
a new shilling out of the mint. Her house was lighted up 
for company twice every week, and no one else presumed to 
be “ at home” on the nights when her parties took place. 
She was lady patroness of every public ball that was given 
during the season, — she could fill the theatre on a day’s no- 
tice with a numerous and fashionable audience, — and her 
table was covered every morning, dike a snow-storm, with 
cards and invitations, so that she often laughingly threat- 
ened to give up residing in Edinburgh, to avoid the trouble 
of answering notes, or else to appoint a secretary of her 
own for the home department. Such a brilliant and suc- 
cessful career as we have described, was the envy and ad- 
miration of all competitors ; and though her own heart, 
which had naturally been endowed with sensibility, did oc- 
casionally feel some misgivings, whether the blaze of out- 
ward prosperity were a sufficient substitute for that inward 
peace which the world takes away but never can bestow, 
she soon stifled these unwelcome emotions, and succeeded 
in persuading herself, that the first object in life for her- 
self, and for her lovely daughter, was to gain applause and 
admiration from the surrounding world. 

In Eleanor Eitz-Patrick’s education, her mother did as 
she would have been done by, carefully teaching every ac- 
complishment that could tend to embellish her manner, or 
to increase her fascinations. She was trained exclusively 
for the drawing-room, and it was her conduct and appear- 
ance there, which alone seemed of importance to Lady Fitz- 
Patrick, who was in a constant fidget to exhibit her, and 
who kept a list, as long as a newspaper, of every delinquency 
in appearance or address, for which she required to be cor- 
rected. The care of Eleanor’s morals and religion was 
committed to the governess, with a careless remark, that 
these things were quite out of her own line, and as for any 
management of the mind and temper, that was quite too 
much for her to attempt; but as Eleanor had naturally 
great animal spirits, it became the delight of her mother to 
encourage every indication of vivacity. All her childish 
bon mots were treasured up, and repeated to each successive 
visitor, in Eleanor’s presence ; and even when she did not 
overhear the exact purport of the communication, every one 
is gifted with a natural tact, which reveals at once when 
we are ourselves the subject of conversation, by which she 
discovered who was heroine of the tale. However pert her 


8 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


replies might have been to any stranger who addressed her 
they were generally hailed with a burst of rapturous ap* 
plause, and the inherent turn for mimicry which seems na- 
tural to all children, was cultivated in Eleanor by the most 
unbounded commendation. If Lady Fitz-Patrick occasion- 
ally reproved her daughter for imitating the voice or man- 
ner of b^er friends, it was in a tone of affected remonstrance, 
but with a laugh in her eye, which showed any thing ra- 
ther than disapprobation, and the little mimic was often de- 
sired, a minute afterwards, to show how Sir Collin Fletcher 
walked, or Lady Evans shook her head. The capricious 
preferences and aversions which Eleanor expressed towards 
people, were also made a subject of grave discussion, and 
actual importance, — how she had taken a strange, unac- 
countable antipathy to old Mrs. Fortescue, and been most 
surprisingly gracious to Lady Montague ; and the peculiar- 
ities of her temper and conduct were watched as a matter 
of diversion, but without the smallest idea of their being 
corrected or improved. u Eleanor has an odd whim of be- 
ing very grave and pensive for the last few days,” said 
Lady Fitz-Patrick to her sister one day. “ I have no con- 
ception of the cause, but it rather becomes her for variety ! 
You can scarcely imagine that her style of features would 
suit the contemplative mood, but indeed I can conceive no 
expression which would not look captivating in her fault- 
less countenance.” 

Though Miss Fitz-Patrick’s governess had been very fre- 
quently changed, her mother was always fortunate enough 
to secure one who had educated a certain number of accom- 
plished Lady Carolines and Lady Sophias ; and as most of 
these pupils had since been brilliantly established in life, 
“ that was the best criterion,” she remarked, “ of the young 
ladies’ having been properly brought up.” In Eleanor’s 
dress there was generally something singular and fantastic, 
which claimed observation, and seemed to point her out, 
from her earliest infancy, as an object of notice, and Lady 
Fitz-Patrick had been always in the habit of boasting how 
constantly her nurse had formerly been stopped in the street, 
and asked, “ whose charming child she was.” The peculiar 
cut of her bonnet might often have claimed some part of the 
merit, but Eleanor Fitz-Patrick was indeed an eminently 
beautiful girl. The regular contour of her features, the 
transparent whiteness of her skin, the sunny smile upon her 
face, and the laughing brightness of her hazel eyes, gave 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


9 


a dazzling brilliancy and intelligence to her countenance, 
which it was impossible to look at without admiration. 
There was a murmur of applause whenever she entered her 
mother’s drawing-room, which the lovely object of it but toe 
soon learnt to interpret aright ; and in case its import might 
have escaped attention, her delighted mother generally en- 
tertained the maid, when she superintended her daughter’s 
evening toilette, with anecdotes of the admiration which 
“ those beautiful ringlets” had excited, and how her foot 
had been compared to a Chinese lady’s, it was so ridicu- 
lously small.” 

“ There is no advantage in concealing from a girl that 
she is handsome,” was a frequent remark of Lady Fitz- 
Patrick in her most sensible tone ; u she soon finds abund- 
ance of people to tell her so, and will become more indiffer- 
ent from being accustomed to consider herself an acknowl- 
edged beauty. We always see that persons who are born 
to high rank, think less of it than those who are promoted 
late in life ; and I am convinced the same rule will hold 
good with respect to admiration also : Eleanor is born to it , 
and. the sooner she is aware of her birth-right the better !” 

Her ladyship forgot, however, to guard the information 
she so liberally afforded, with such an appearance of indif- 
ference as might have fortified her daughter’s mind against 
over-estimating the gifts of nature ; and when the lovely 
Eleanor perceived that nothing distressed her mother so 
much as the most transient blemish in her looks, she soon 
learnt the too easy lesson of considering her personal ap- 
pearance as the most important object in life, and would 
have shut herself up for a week, rather than be seen under 
the slightest eclipse of her usual brilliancy. 

If Lady Fitz-Patrick led a life of busy idleness, labori- 
ously, though often vainly toiling after pleasure, which has 
been so truly compared by the poet to quicksilver, for it 
u still eludes us, but it glitters still,” Lady Howard’s en- 
gagements were still more unrelaxed and incessant in their 
exaction on her time and thoughts. She had never been a 
beauty like her sister, and therefore, thinking it essential 
to be something wonderful in her own way, she had early 
in life determined to be “ prodigiously clever.” When a 
report first arose, many years before the commencement of 
our story, that Sir Francis Howard was to marry the blue- 
stocking Miss Neville, the rumor was usually received 
with contemptuous incredulity ; and after it had been at 


10 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


length duly confirmed, the gossipping world in general de- 
clared they never could cease to wonder at so unsuitable a 
match ; while many excellent people said, (as they had re- 
marked of a hundred marriages before,) that “ after this 
they could never be surprised at any thing again !” Sir 
Francis Howard had always been considered a mere horse- 
and-dog man, whose studies were entirely confined to the 
Sporting Magazine and the Racing Calendar, varied occa- 
sionally by a peep at White’s Farriery, when any of his 
horses were indisposed ; and the chief object of his attention 
when he opened a newspaper was, to know the state of the 
St. Leger, or to read of any extraordinary run that had 
taken place with the Leicester or Yorkshire hounds; and 
whatever horses were to be sold at Tattersall’s, he carefully 
traced their pedigree, and often proved some of them to de- 
serve a patent of nobility on account of their high lineage. 

Sir Francis Howard had been an English stranger for 
the winter, when Miss Maria Neville made her debut in 
Edinburgh, and he had admired her seat on horseback, and 
her vivacity of look and manner, before the dreadful truth 
became revealed to him, that she was “ blue !” His friends 
laughed at the discovery, and piqued him into asserting that 
he liked her the better for it. They tried to “ show her up” 
on one occasion before him, and asked her a number of un- 
answerable questions. “ If she knew what was written in 
the lost books of Livy?” “Whether Charles the Bald 
wore a wig ?” and “ who commanded the left wing of the 
French at the battle of Spurs?” Miss Neville had tact 
enough to encourage the joke with liveliness and humour : 
Sir Francis protested that he admired her spirit and intelli- 
gence ; his friends laughed on, and at length laughed him 
into marrying her. 

Nobody could conjecture what number of languages Lady 
Howard knew, and there was even a report that she had 
been convicted of Greek and Latin. Her acquaintance with 
literature became obvious every time she spoke ; for it was 
very seldom that Lady Howard did not quote some book 
that no one else in the room had ever either seen or heard 
of, so that she went for some time under the sobriquet of 
“ The walking Library.” She was a keen politician too, 
and constantly received “ Private letters from London,” 
with all the newest reports which were “ quite certain, and 
a great secret ” Once she had known a whole day before 
any one at the club, that there would be a change of Min 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


11 


istry ; and Sir Francis often lamented, on lier account, the 
want of a Petticoat Parliament, as she would have been the 
greatest orator in it. Lady Howard’s name was in every 
oook-club ; she collected autographs and franks ; composed 
a little volume of Sonnets on “ Ruined Towers,” — “ Broken 
lilys,” — and “ Forget-me-nots contributed to Blackwood’s 
Magazine ; and once she actually perpetrated a pamphlet 
on the state of the nation, which was handed about in con- 
fidence amongst a select circle of friends, who pronounced 
it to be “ well worthy of her pen.” 

Besides all this, Lady Howard patronized every body, 
and Sir Francis often told her, that she saved their ac- 
quaintances a perfect fortune in advertisements. If a ser- 
vant needed a place, — if a friend wanted a house, — or a 
shop required customers, she was indefatigable, and covered 
lier chimney-piece with cards for singing-masters who 
required scholars, and from decayed gentlewomen who 
washed lace. Her back drawing-room was a perfect repo- 
sitory for the sale of paintings and pincushions, to gain a 
livelihood for various deserving persons in distress ; and it 
was reckoned quite a service of danger to visit much at 
Lady Howard’s, she had so many charitable traps set, to 
catch all the loose cash that might be straying in her friends’ 
pockets. Many who entered the house with a firm resolu- 
tion of being quite impregnable to all assaults on their be- 
nevolence, found themselves returning to their carriages 
afterwards most unaccountably laden with “ the sweetest 
little poem in the world by a poor blind cobbler or a 
pair of rickety hand-screens that had been painted by an 
old woman in her bed ; or else a dozen of tickets for the 
raffle of some poor man’s watch, which was to be generously 
returned to him by anyone who had the good fortuue to win 
it. If they successfully evaded all these temptations, then 
they generally found themselves pledged to employ, for the 
rest of their lives, some distressed baker with a large family, 
whose bread was not much sourer than other peoples ; or 
to be measured at some cheap shop for a pair of shoes that 
it would be impossible ever to wear. 

Sir Francis professed to be the only person who never 
would listen to her recommendations, and he was often 
Known to insinuate, that she must certainly levy a per- 
centage for the trouble she took. But his cellar and hia 
stable were both alike inaccessible to all her bargains, and 
he sometimes laughed his friends completely out of coun 


12 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


tenance when he saw them pinioned into a u cheap coat,” 
or suffering under a u treasure of a cook,” warranted and 
recommended by Lady Howard. 

Her parties were of a perfectly different caste from those 
of Lady Fitz-Patrick, though equally select and exclusive 
in her own line. Any author who had ever written, or 
was supposed to be writing a book, was sure to obtain a 
card ; all artists who had pictures in the exhibition re- 
ceived invitations immediately ; advocates who were too 
busy to attend parties in general ; travellers who had pene- 
trated beyond the common orbit of Italy and Switzerland ; 
professors of every science ; amateurs in music, mathema- 
tics, or phrenology ; young ladies who could talk of taste 
and the fine arts, and Members of Parliament who had 
spoken in u the House,” were all assembled and mingled 
together at Lady Howard’s “ petites soirees.” Sir Francis 
complained that it was almost impossible to smuggle in any 
of his own friends, though he protested that they were gen- 
erally very illustrious personages in their own departments ; 
— gentlemen who had bagged nearly a hundred brace of 
grouse in a single day, — or who had driven their own car- 
riages so rapidly as to outstrip the mail, or who could walk 
a mile in five minutes, — all put in their claims to be “ lions,” 
but were very rarely permitted to pass muster, and only 
under an embargo on their ever being asked again. In 
short, nobody was ever half so busy or so clever in this 
world before as Lady Howard, and the labor of supporting 
the character she assumed might have made her an object 
of pity to the most worn-out actress. Night and day she 
played her part, or occupied herself in preparing for it. 
She kept up a correspondence that would have wearied a 
secretary of state, and ran through so many books, that it 
might have tired the eyes of Argus to read them, or the 
hands of Briareus to turn the leaves over. Her mind be- 
came like the bed of a river, where every thing flowed 
through, and nothing remained. History, reviews, pamph- 
lets, magazines, poems, travels, and biographies, were all 
strewed upon her table, waiting to be read the first leisure 
moment, though frequently she paid them off with the most 
transient glance, like an insolvent debtor who dismisses a 
host of creditors at once, by paying a shilling in the pound. 

When Lady Howard had got some degree in arrear of 
her reading, she had an instinctive dread of the frequent 
opening question in a literary conversation, “ Have you read 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


13 


the last publication ?” and she wished at least to be able to 
reply in her usual tone of decided criticism, u I begun it, 
but the style did not please me,” or, “ the little I had pa- 
tience for, seemed very hackneyed.” Occasionally she made 
some governess out of place, mark the most prominent pas 
sages of a new book, if she suddenly heard that the author 
himself was to appear at an approaching party ; and Sir 
Francis alleged that once when a friend of her own had en 
trusted his manuscript poem for perusal, which she entirely 
forgot till he sent for the volume again, Lady Howard 
merely glanced down the last word of every line, to see how 
they all rhymed, and then wrote to him that she thought it 
“extremely harmonious.” 

Such a public-spirited individual as we have described, 
would scarcely be expected to squander much time upon the 
care of' her children’s education, yet she was a prodigious 
amateur in the systems and theories by which infants can be 
trained into prodigies on the shortest notice. Lady Howard 
had already lost several of her family who were successively 
the wonders of their day. Each of them knew his letters 
at three years old, sung and repeated hymns at four, spoke 
French at five, and died at six, to the surprise and grief of 
their mother, who lamented her hard fate, and talked much 
of the severity of her afflictions ; but she learnt no caution 
by experience, and educated those who were spared with 
unrelaxing vehemence. Sir Francis mournfully declared 
that his children had been worked to death, but not being 
gifted with sufficient moral courage to insist on his own pre- 
rogative of absolute interference, he vainly attempted to 
convince Lady Howard of her error, and finding she was 
impenetrable to argument or entreaty, he contented him- 
self with banishing his three remaining sons to school, and 
resolutely determined on estranging his affections from 
Matilda, whom he regarded as an object of painful sympathy, 
beyond the reach of his assistance, and therefore inevitably 
a victim like the rest, to excessive cultivation. Lady How- 
ard’s utmost ingenuity was exercised in devising plans of 
study for her daughter, each of which required to be tried 
under the dynasty of a different governess, so that by the 
time Matilda Howard attained the age of sixteen, she had 
been successively taught by eight, all of whom were in- 
structed in the last “ method ” that had been invented for 
making young ladies accomplished on the newest pattern, 
and though each of these preceptresses brought recommend- 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


14 

ations and testimonials, setting them forth as models of per 
fection, yet six months afterwards, Lady Howard invariably 
found out some fatal deficiency, which put a premature end 
to their reign. Sir Francis had been heard to insinuate, 
what many people believed, that the pleasure she had in 
providing them with situations amongst her friends, made 
Lady Howard fastidious, and still more, the gratification of 
writing to her correspondent at Berne or Schatfhausen, for 
a description of all the remaining Mademoiselles, with un- 
pronounceable names, still en 'pension in the neighboring 
convents, together with a catalogue of their various acquire- 
ments, which were then emblazoned and discussed at the 
next committee on education amongst her literary friends. 

Matilda Howard’s beauty was as brilliant, and her talents 
were no less promising, than those of her cousin Miss Fitz- 
Patrick, but Lady Howard had a theory so decidedly against 
any girl being either seen or heard of, till she was ready to 
be finally launched, that on the few occasions when Matilda 
appeared with her governess before visitors, she was merely 
permitted to be present as a quiet spectator, instead of acting, 
like Eleanor, in the capacity of principal performer, and in 
the quiet recesses of her own school-room, she was governed 
ostensibly according to the code of laws established by Lady 
Howard, but in reality according to the whim or caprice of 
the last new administration from Switzerland. 

In the fashionable world few people knew, and the few 
who knew seldom recollected, that Lady Fitz-Patrick and 
Lady Howard had an elder sister, who considered herself as 
much a leader, and a person of consequence in her own par- 
ticular “ set,” as themselves : and if possible, she found more 
to do than either of them. Miss Barbara Neville, in her 
youth, had been always much overlooked, owing to the su- 
perior brilliancy of her younger sisters, and with the same 
love of excitement, she tried to dress like Lady Fitz-Patrick, 
and to talk like Lady Howard, but somehow it never suc- 
ceeded ; she was neither gazed at, nor listened to as they 
were, and the case seemed beyond all remedy, till at length 
it was suddenly announced, as publicly and decidedly as if 
she had been going to be married, that “ Miss Barbara Ne- 
ville had become serious !” From that moment she was never 
seen or heard of again, at Lady Fitz-Patrick’s balls, nor at 
Lady Howard’s conversaziones, though she henceforth min- 
gled in a world of her own, and enjoyed a great deal of what 
Sir F rancis called 11 religious dissipation.” There was always 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


15 


some clergyman, as infallible as the pope, whose preaching it 
seemed necessary to her salvation to attend, and this unfor- 
tunately never happened to be the pastor of her own parish, 
who was merely a man of sincere, but unpretending piety ; 
and accordingly every Sunday a coachman and a pair of 
horses were denied that rest which is the privilege of every 
living creature on the Sabbath, and obliged to convey Miss 
Barbara Neville to hear, what she called u a sweet or a 
striking discourse.” If any church was open for an extra 
sermon, before breakfast, or after dinner, she preferred at- 
tending a third or fourth service to the more retired, and 
equally essential duties of private prayer and meditation. 
At every missionary meeting, Miss Barbara Neville secured 
a front seat, and would gladly have mounted on the platform 
if her ascent had been allowed. At the General Assembly 
she might have been mistaken for a ruling elder, her attend- 
ance night and day was so incessant, and in every company 
indiscriminately she was ready to talk of her experience , as if 
she were the only Christian of the party, having miscon- 
ceived cant for religion, like those who fancy that the 
rumbling of a cart is thunder. Every new doctrine found 
an advocate in Miss Neville ; and far from concluding that 
the most important topies are always most fully and dis- 
tinctly enforced in Scripture, she generally seized on those 
which were obscure and difficult, maintaining that they 
were the most essential, so that a novice in controversy 
might have imagined that a new volume of the Bible had 
been recently discovered, from the zeal with which she pro- 
pagated opinions which had been unknown in former ages to 
the humble, the teachable, the learned and the devout stu- 
dents, who, praying for the light of God’s own Spirit, and 
studying His word, to receive the sense and not to give it, 
had lived under the influence of its precepts, and died in the 
believing anticipation of its promises and hopes. Miss Bar- 
bara Neville had moreover struck out a particular interpre- 
tation of prophecy for her own use, and was supposed to be 
writing on it for the public benefit, as she talked slightingly 
of Newton and Keith, whom she stigmatized as persons of 
“ narrow views,” and she evidently thought that for her own 
part, she 

“ Could deep mysteries unriddle 
More easily than thread a needle.” 

Her very dres3 was religious ; she wore a cottage bonnet 


1G 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


as long and round as a telescope, a sad-colored gown of 
some remarkably dingy hue, and an enormous basket on 
her arm, which left the imagination of spectators at fault to 
conjecture whether it contained provisions or clothing for a 
whole family in distress. Sir Francis used to complain that 
in church no one disturbed his devotions so much as Bar- 
bara, for if the most ordinary remark occurred, on the short- 
ness or uncertainty of human life, she sighed as audibly as 
an old woman on the pulpit stairs, and if the sinfulness of 
our nature was alluded to, she shook her head till her long 
narrow bonnet vibrated like the pendulum of a clock. 

There was one subject of mortification which constantly 
teazed and annoyed Miss Neville, beyond all power of en- 
durance. By no possible device could she ever contrive to 
impress on either of her sisters, that she was a religious 
character. All the genuine Christians among her con- 
nexions or acquaintances, were ready to put a charitable 
construction on her “ little foibles,” and anxious to believe 
her a true, though injudicious convert. Those who resem- 
bled herself in their love of religious novelties and discove- 
ries, held her up as a perfect saint, and the world in gene- 
ral seldom take the trouble of discriminating between real 
and artificial devotion, so that they were perfectly satisfied 
to consider any one who wore a poke bonnet without trim- 
mings, and attended missionary meetings, as fully entitled 
to rank amongst the general class of Methodists. But Lady 
Fitz-Patrick and Lady Howard affected not to perceive any 
change whatever in Miss Neville, which annoyed her more 
than the severest persecution could have done, — in that she 
might have gloried, but there was no glory whatever in 
being addressed as a mere every-day mortal. 

“ Ah ! Barbara, how has the world treated you since we 
met last?” said Lady Howard, one day, carelessly extend- 
ing a finger to be shaken, when she called in Moray Place. 

“ It matters little to one who is above the world, how she 
is treated by its votaries,” replied Miss Neville, angrily 
glancing at the solitary finger. 

“ My dear Barbara ! you are no more above the world 
than myself,” said Lady Howard, laughing, u we are both 
alike steeped in its interests and concerns, though in a dif- 
ferent line ; and we are ready to make very considerable 
sacrifices to obtain its good opinion. I can tell what true 
religion is, though, like Lord Byron, ‘just skill’d to know 
the right, and choose the wrong.’ Yours is a mere Bir 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. IT 

mingham imitation, which one would be ashamed to wear. 
I could fancy you very capable, if circumstances required 
it, of going to the slake as a martyr, or of taking the veil, 
or building an hospital ! but to sit soberly down in peaceful 
insignificance, and consistently fulfil the simple duties of 
your own station, is a piece of religious heroism that you 
are quite unequal to.” 

“You are an incompetent judge of Christian duties, be- 
ing very little in the habit of studying them,” replied Miss 
Neville, indignantly. 

“No, Barbara!” said Lady Howard, with some emotion, 
“ I can love and venerate in others, what I might vainly wish 
to become myself ; and you know we have, amongst our- 
selves, one bright example of the utmost perfection to which 
our nature can be brought. Were society composed of such 
augelic minds as hers, it would be like heaven already upon 
earth ; for if there be any mortal in existence, that it were 
possible for me to envy, it is one whose very presence acts 
like the spear of Ithuriel, in showing me the deformity of 
every thing worldly, and makes me often feel, in spite of 
myself, that there may be a dignity and a blessedness of 
spirit beyond any thing that you or I have ever known, and 
which would be cheaply purchased at the sacrifice of all I 
ever expect to enjoy.” 

The person to whom Lady Howard alluded, would have 
been the very last to appropriate these characteristics 
aright. Connected by marriage with the various individ- 
uals whom we have already described, she was really all that 
they wished to appear. Beauty, talents, and deep unaffect- 
ed piety, were united in the widow of Lady Howard’s only 
brother ; and though no one could have told the precise 
hour at which Lady Olivia Neville first became religious, 
yet the earliest traditions of childhood had marked her out 
as one in whom the graces of the Christian character were 
beautifully developed. Surrounded, as she had once been, 
by all that could have served to gratify her vanity, or to 
engage her affections in the world, she had gone on in the 
straight and narrow path of duty and devotion, unbiassed 
by the allurements of the present scene, though not insen- 
sible to its events. Like the disciples of our Great Master, 
who plucked the ears of corn as they passed along, but yet 
considered it their main object to follow after Him, she kept 
her eye steadily fixed upon that Saviour whom it was the 
continual desire of her heart to imitate ; and without eithei 


18 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


courting the applause of the world, or defying its censure, 
she conciliated the regard of all who approached her by the 
gentleness of her address, and the frankness of her manner, 
while she yet maintained the consistency and integrity of 
her own conduct. It proceeded from no motive of self-love, 
that Lady Olivia Neville had been wont to seek the good-will 
of all those who might be placed within the sphere of her 
influence ; but love to God and to her neighbour were the 
ruling principles of her conduct : and believing that there 
was no happiness for others, but where it had been found by 
herself, she almost felt like the apostle, that she could be all 
things to all men, so that by any means she might win some. 

Advancing years perfected, in the furnace of affliction, 
that work of grace in the heart of Lady Olivia, which all 
the adulation and prosperity of the world had scarcely served 
to impede ; and after a succession of sorrows, which she was 
only enabled to survive by the consciousness, that they came 
from the chastening hand of a Father who would not need- 
lessly afflict her, she at length reaped the benefit of that 
promise which is made to every sufferer, li The righteous 
shall cry, and the Lord shall hear, and deliver them out of 
all their troubles !” Many a day of solitary mourning marked 
the progress of Lady Olivia’s deep afflictions, but not one 
hour of murmuring or discontent. Grief had withdrawn 
her from much intercourse with the world, but she lived in 
it as a calm, and sometimes even as a cheerful stranger, who 
desired to diffuse the light of truth and happiness among all 
who approached her ; and to pour the balm of peace and 
consolation into every heart that had bled like her own. In 
the dark hour of anguish and sorrow, all afflicted mourners 
felt the power of her mind, — she had but to take the hand 
of those who had been bereaved of what was dearest to them 
on earth ; and while she sat in silent sympathy by their 
side, they felt that she understood their whole hearts, and 
had suffered like themselves. She had but to speak words 
of faith and resignation, on such occasions, when all might 
see that it was not the cold theory of one who knew not how 
to feel, but the sympathy of a heart, softened with every 
sentiment of tenderness and pity. Who has not found, that 
those who would bring comfort to mourners, must have 
mourned themselves ; and that in approaching our Divine 
Redeemer for help in every time of extremity, it is our chiet 
source of confidence that he has been tempted like as wg 
are, — that he hath wept like ourselves. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


19 


From the earliest period of their lives, a mutual attach- 
ment had existed between Colonel Neville and his cousin, 
Lady Olivia Clifford, but the ambitious expectations of her 
father delayed their union, and with implicit submission to 
his commands, their intercourse was entirely suspended for 
several years ; but long separation seemed only to increase 
that affection which was founded in perfect similarity of 
character and sentiment, till at length, touched by the high 
principle of Colonel Neville, who never attempted to see 
Lady Olivia without his sanction, and by her uncomplain- 
ing obedience in sacrificing her own wishes to his, Lord 
Hargrave, a short time before his own death, unexpectedly 
consented to terminate the long and painful probation 
which he had inflicted. 

Nothing could exceed the happiness of Colonel and Lady 
Olivia Neville, during the years of devoted attachment and 
mutual confidence which succeeded their union, — each an- 
niversary was commemorated with fervent gratitude to 
Him, whose bountiful hand seemed to lavish the choicest 
blessings upon them, and as time flew on, it only rivetted 
their affection, and deepened the sympathy of their hearts. 
There are joys peculiar to the Christian which can only be 
appreciated by those who are like minded with himself ; 
these were shared by Lady Olivia with her husband ; and 
the few sorrows which clouded their union, only seemed to 
increase the tenderness and intensity of their attachment, — 
but 

Mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth ] 

The torrent’s smoothness e’er it dash below. 

Lady Olivia Neville had become the mother of several 
very promising children ; and with all the indulgent tender- 
ness of a mother’s feelings, she watched over their happiness, 
at the same time that with, anxious solicitude, she bore con- 
tinually in mind the solemn responsibility that a Christian 
parent must feel, in the thought of having given existence 
to those who shall never cease to live throughout the end- 
less ages of eternity. While Lady Olivia encouraged her 
children in every innocent enjoyment, she yet made it the 
continual subject of her prayers and endeavours, that they 
should seek God early, and find in him their chief happi- 
ness and their most precious inheritance. Her conversa- 
tion with them was frequently devoted to this great object, 
and from the moment that their young minds were capable 


20 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


of receiving the simplest truths, she took unwearied pains 
in adapting her expressions to their juvenile capacities, and 
in trying to give clearness and precision to their thoughts 
on religion. She watched over their dispositions with 
anxious affection, in order to take advantage of any. ten- 
dency that might be guided towards enlightening the heart 
or understanding, — and every little incident of the day 
was improved to some useful purpose of instruction. She 
interested them with narratives adapted to their tastes ; 
and told them facts calculated to impress the importance of 
religion on their hearts, evincing by her own example how 
essential it was to the enjoyment of real happiness. Colonel 
Neville also found no occupation so delightful as to lead 
forth his children among the wonders and the beauties of 
nature, showing them the wisdom, the benevolence, and 
the glory of that Great Being whom they were called on to 
serve and love, while he encouraged them to converse on 
terms of confidence, and to trust him with all their most 
secret thoughts and feelings, becoming thus the companion 
and the sharer of their greatest enjoyments. 

With respect to this world, the cares and the hopes of 
Colonel and Lady Olivia Neville were doomed to be dis- 
appointed, and had their views been confined to the pres- 
ent scene, they must have mourned with sorrow as hope- 
less as it was bitter, for, in rapid succession, three of their 
beloved children were hurried to the grave by a malignant 
fever which broke out in the neighbouring village, bringing 
grief and desolation into every house. Lady Olivia was 
stunned by the sudden and fearful ravages of a malady 
that left her almost childless. She scarcely knew which of 
her lovely infants was taken and which was spared, while 
she sat in speechless anguish watching the sufferings which 
she could not alleviate, and trembling over the expiring 
struggles of those whom she would willingly have died to 
preserve. Often did she raise her eyes to Heaven in deep 
conviction how helpless is human affection in the hour of 
utmost need, and she cast herself before the throne of God, in 
token of that resignation to His will, which her lips could not 
utter. No hour was so dark, but that she still clung to that 
gleam of consolation which the utmost extent of human 
suffering cannot utterly extinguish in a Christian’s breast, 
and Lady Olivia Neville felt, amidst the desolation of all 
she loved on earth, that there could be but a few years to 
mourn, before she was called to that world where she 


OH THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


21 


would see cause to rejoice that the will of God had been 
done, however agonizing and fearful the stroke which had 
severed her affections from those she had loved so tenderly. 

Let no one ever say that his cup of affliction is full, for 
often when we think that the utmost judgments of the Al- 
mighty have been broken over our heads, there are yet 
more, and yet severer in reserve, that Christians may learn 
to testify acquiescence in their Father’s will, though there 
be nothing left to live for, except to prove our submission 
under His chastisements, and our readiness patiently to 
survive, if such be His decree, the wreck of all that nature 
holds most dear. One only child was left to Colonel and 
Lady Olivia Neville, “the loveliest and the last.” She 
was all that their most sanguine wishes could have desired, 
and to her they fondly looked for consolation, as they con- 
templated the opening graces of her disposition, and the de- 
votedness of her affection towards themselves. The sudden 
bereavement of her former companions gave a cast of me- 
lancholy tenderness to the character of Laura Neville, 
which endeared her more than ever to her afflicted parents, 
but having at length become very solicitous to remove any 
remaining tendency to depression on her spirits, they re- 
solved, after the lapse of a month, to make a tour in the 
north, and to spend some time at Colonel Neville’s shoot- 
ing box, in a remote part of the Highlands, where an entire 
change of air, of scenery, and of occupations, was thought 
to give the speediest hope of restoring the tone to their 
daughter’s nerves, and reviving her wasted strength. 

Though Lady Olivia Neville’s feelings had in some de- 
gree subsided from the first sudden burst of anguish and 
amazement with which she had been overpowered, yet every 
voice which she heard in the distance was still to her fancy 
like the voices of her absent children, and every footstep 
that approached, seemed to remind her of the time when 
they used to fly into her arms with all the jocund glee of 
youth and health and spirits. Her room was embellished 
with their portraits, which she had not resolution to dis- 
place. The scenes they had once enlivened by their pre- 
sence looked as bright as before to every eye but hers. The 
very flowers that they had planted had survived them, and 
in spite of every strenuous effort to the contrary, Lady 
Olivia’s mind continually brooded over all that cherished 
and aggravated her affliction, until Colonel Neville per- 
ceived that to her also a change of scene had become abso 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


22 

lutely essential, and he eagerly prepared to take an ex- 
cursion, from which he augured the most salutary effects to 
those whose health and happiness were dearer to him than 
his own. 

It was the finest season that had ever been remembered in 
the month of August, when Colonel and Lady Olivia Neville, 
with their only remaining child, set out in a light open phm- 
ton on their journey to Ross-shire. The clear blue sky was 
unclouded over their heads, the fields were covered with the 
luxuriant harvest, and the whole scene through which they 
passed was bathed in the richest tints of autumn. All was 
cheerfulness and beauty as they passed along inhaling the 
pure gales of the morning or basking in the glories of the 
evening sun-set. The smiling villages stretched along the 
road, the gleaners scattered upon the fields in groups, the 
school-boys shouting in noisy glee, the children nutting in 
the woods, the sportsman surrounded by his dogs, and the 
fisherman plying his patient vocation, all called forth the 
sympathy of Lady Olivia, who was ever ready to participate 
in the feelings of others, while her exquisite taste for the 
charms of nature never allowed her to be satiated with ad- 
miring each bold romantic scene which successively present- 
ed itself before her. The rugged mountains varied to their 
very summits with rocks and heather, the golden blossoms 
of the furze adorning the valleys, the scarlet berries of the 
mountain ash, the deep red tints of the beech and the oak 
relieved against the pale bright hue of the plane, the silver 
stems of the birch, and the dark fantastic forms of the fir- 
tree, gave altogether a magic variety of coloring to the 
scenery, the bright mountain torrents dashing rapidly over 
their pebbly beds, tinged with so bright a yellow that every 
stone took the tint of a cairngorum, the willow and “ the 
ladye of the woods’'’ dipping their long festoons in the stream, 
and the large deep Highland lochs, in which the craggy 
mountains and the drooping coppice were reflected as in a mir- 
ror, and the heron and the wild deer might rest in security 
amidst the solitude of nature. Such scenes as these called 
forth Lady Olivia’s thoughts from the sorrow that had so long 
corroded within her breast, and she rewarded the anxious 
solicitude of Colonel Neville by an appearance of returning 
serenity, and by at least concealing from him much of the 
sorrow she could not entirely conquer. At each place where 
they stopped, some glen was to be explored, or some land- 
scape of more than usual loveliness to be seen from the 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


23 


neighboring eminences, to which Colonel Neville delighted 
to conduct her ; and whatever he proposed to promote her 
restoration, she unhesitatingly complied with, and seconded 
by her own efforts and prayers. He conversed with her 
often on the pleasures and duties which might still be sources 
of happiness to them both, and exercised all the ingenuity 
which tenderness and sympathy could suggest, in reminding 
her, that though much had been taken, still more remained 
to bless them both ; and that no affliction could leave them 
utterly comfortless, while they had the mournful privilege 
of sharing it together. In leading Lady Olivia to look 
abroad on the loveliness of nature, where the majestic glo- 
ries of creation were displayed in rich profusion before her, 
Colonel Neville remarked how infinite was the condescen- 
sion of its Almighty Lord in revealing Himself to her as 
one who pitied her sorrows, even as a Father pitieth his 
children, and that thus, the very tenderness with which she 
mourned for her own offspring, showed more affectingly the 
beauty and the expressiveness of that consoling assurance. 

All the sensibility of Lady Olivia’s heart was soothed by 
the consciousness of her husband’s considerate affection, and 
the returning health of their interesting Laura became a 
continual source of pleasure to her parents, so that, as they 
approached the cottage of Colonel Neville, perfect serenity 
and peace appeared to have been restored to their hearts, 
and they both felt that in their mutual affection and in the 
love of God, they had a sure foundation for happiness, 
which the storms of life might shake but never could de- 
stroy. 

A long precipitous hill led towards the gate of Glen-Al- 
pine Cottage, so steep and rugged as to be often considered 
dangerous, though it had never occasioned any serious acci- 
dent. On the evening that they reached the gate, night 
was fast closing in, and their servant being impatient to ar- 
rive, omitted to stop the carriage and put a drag on the 
wheels, which Colonel Neville did not remark till he had 
proceeded a considerable way down, after which it was im- 
possible to stop their descent. The horses slipped and 
scrambled for a considerable way, till at length the road 
suddenly took a sharp turn, the carriage went off the track, 
and in an instant more their equipage was upset, and the 
whole party scattered over a bank beneath. 

Colonel Neville, though he had met with a violent con- 
tusion on the head which stunned him for some time, was 


24 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


the first to recover consciousness, and having ascertained 
that Lady Olivia was severely hurt, he became unmindful 
of everything but the safety of his family, and overlooking 
his own sufferings entirely, he hastened to the lodge, which 
was stil^nearly a mile distant, to spread the alarm and to 
bring immediate assistance. A crowd was speedily assem- 
bled from the village, who accompanied him to the fatal 
spot, where Lady Olivia was still completely insensible, and 
as her shoulder seemed to be dislocated, his first care was to 
have her conveyed on a shutter to the nearest house. Col- 
onel Neville then anxiously turned to the place where his 
daughter had been cast. The country people and servants 
stood in a silent group round the spot where she lay, and 
when they observed him approaching, a momentary effort 
was made to impede his progress, but the agitated father, 
alarmed at their looks of grief and consternation, broke 
through the assembled multitude, and gazed upon the face 
of his child ; she was a corpse — her head had evidently been 
dashed with violence against the trunk of a tree, and she 
seemed to have instantly expired. 

With a groan of agony, Colonel Neville sunk upon the 
ground, and clasping his daughter in his arms, he became 
nearly as lifeless as herself. The stillness of death reigned 
among the sympathizing spectators, and nothing awoke him 
from a stupor of overwhelming grief, till the sudden remem- 
brance of Lady Olivia’s precarious situation roused up the 
manly energy of his character. By a powerful effort he 
stifled his agony, and reflected how much must be done to 
scr&eu the worst from her knowledge, till she was prepared 
for the blow; and in silent but bitter anguish Colonel Ne- 
ville withdrew from the scene of his misfortune, and placed 
himself beside the couch of his suffering wife, resolved that 
no tongue but his own should reveal to her the last and 
greatest of all her bereavements. Night and day he watched 
with fervent anxiety beside her pillow, fearful lest some im- 
prudent attendant, or some accidental circumstance, might 
prematurely disclose it all, and dreading, yet almost longing 
for the moment when their tears should be mingled together, 
and he might give vent to the deep tide of sorrow that had 
so nearly overpowered him. 

At length all danger of fever seemed to be at an end. 
Lady Olivia’s pulse became regular, her pain subsided, and 
Colonel Neville was informed that the hour had come, when 
it might be prudent, as well as necessary, to tell the anxious 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


2.5 


mother that she was childless. Then was the time when 
his courage failed and his heart sunk, for he was called on 
to communicate to another the blow which had stunned and 
overwhelmed himself. The struggle for composure and for- 
titude was long and severe, till at length bodily exhaustion, 
combined with mental anguish, brought on a brain fever, of 
which in a few days he expired. 

We must draw a veil over many years, during which the 
bereaved wife and mother was buried in unapproachable 
sorrow, while her tears would have incessantly flowed, but 
for the rich consolations that were still poured into her 
breast by the hand that is strong to smite, but omnipotent 
to save. There was a gulf into which she dared not look, 
for every past scene of happiness appeared now rising up 
like a scorpion to sting her, and every future hour of life 
was darkened down to naked waste. “ If in this life only 
we had hope, I should be of all beings the most miserable,” 
was the continued reflection of her heart, while she strug- 
gled to fix her thoughts on the bright scene of futurity. 
“ Is there any sorrow like unto my sorrow was the lan- 
guage of nature, for her soul was wrung with bitter remem- 
brance of former joys ; but still, like the patriarch of old, 
she could say, “ Though He slay me, yet will I trust in 
Him.” 

Lady Olivia Neville had never before mourned alone ; but 
now the eye which had watched over her with deepest sym- 
pathy, was closed for ever, — the hand which had so tenderly 
dried up her tears, was cold in the grave, — the tongue that 
had spoken the words of holy hope and pious consolation, 
was never to be heard again. “ But, oh ! the thought that 
he is safe !” — that was what first enabled Lady Olivia to 
contemplate the past and the future with composure. u I 
shall go to him, but he shall not return to me ! A few short 
years of evil past, and death-divided friends shall meet to 
part no more.” 

It is in so dark a night of desolation as had gathered 
around Lady Olivia Neville, that the bright star of heavenly 
promise shines with redoubled lustre, and seems to point our 
way towards the Saviour, who veiled His glory in an earthly 
form, that He might teach us how to suffer, and where to 
seek for help. She meditated on his agonies till her own 
appeared to become lightened, — she remembered the sym- 
pathy He has promised to His afflicted children, and felt 
that she was not alone in her sorrows — she contemplated tlie 

2 


_;6 MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 

glory with which He is now for ever surrounded, and anti- 
cipated with fervent desire the time when faith should be 
swallowed up in sight, and hope in enjoyment. But though 
she trusted that the night was far spent, and that the day 
was at hand, she yet remembered the example as well as the 
promises of her Redeemer, and tried, like Him, in every 
hour of temptation and sorrow, to pray, and constantly to 
remember, that while she lived much was given her to do as 
well as to suffer, and she must work the works of Him that 
sent her, as the hour would come when she could work no 
more. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT 


21 


CHAPTER II. 


Yet in my dreams a form I view 
That thinks on me, anil loves ine too ] 

I start, — and when the vision’s gone, 

I weep that I am all alone. 

Ode to Solitude 


u The heart will break, yet brokenly live on.” The affec- 
tions may be blighted by sorrow and bereavement, but they 
never become utterly extinguished in the human breast, for 
while life remains, we must have something to love, and 
something to live for. Lady Olivia looked abroad upon the 
desolate waste around, and all that had been nearest and 
dearest to her was swept away. She felt like u a withered 
scroll, a scattered leaf, sear’d by the autumn blast of grief.” 

An ordinary mind must have sunk beneath the weight of 
such accumulated calamities, but though her wasted form 
and pallid cheek bore painful testimony to the depth of her 
sorrows — and none who saw her could suppose any earthly 
joy might ever reach that heart again — yet there survived in 
her spirit that general feeling of benevolence, which created 
a desire to diffuse amongst all who came within the sphere 
of her influence such happiness as she was never herself to 
know again, and wherever she heard of sorrow or suffering 
in her neighborhood, she left the privacy of her own home, 
to place herself in the midst of a scene, where those who 
mourned often found their first consolation in pouring out 
the whole feeling of their hearts to one who was ready to 
unite her tears, as well as her prayers, with every afflicted 
sufferer. 

But the warmest earthly affections of Lady Olivia Ne- 
ville soon became centered in her two young and lovely 
nieces, for it seemed almost like the revival of a mother’s 
tenderness, when she gazed on their bright and happy coun- 
tenances, and heard their cheerful voices calling on her to 
rejoice with them in all their juvenile enjoyments. No 
human eye ever witnessed the tears she often shed at the 
remembrance that her own Laura might have been such as 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


& 

they, nor the prayers and the efforts that it cost her to meet 
them with that smile of benignity and affection, which 
invariably marked her reception of Eleanor and Matilda, 
whenever they were sent to visit her. It would have been 
difficult to say which was the most beautiful and fascinating 
of Lady Olivia’s nieces, who were thought by strangers to 
bear a remarkable resemblance to each other. Matilda’s 
eyes rivalled the hue of the violet, and Eleanor’s were hazel ; 
but the same classical outline marked their features, and 
the same transparent complexion was conspicuous in both. 
Their superb hair flowed in silken ringlets over their fair 
white foreheads, and the laughing smile that dimpled their 
cheeks, and lighted up their countenances with perpetual 
sunshine, attracted such admiration, that each was thought 
the most lovely and animated when her cousin was absent, 
and both were acknowledged to eclipse every competitor for 
the palm of beauty and grace. This likeness between their 
daughters gave additional interest to the keen rivalsliip be- 
tween Lady Fitz-Patrick and Lady Howard, which of them 
should enjoy the greatest advantages in future life, and be 
the most universally admired. u I only wish our uncle Sir 
Philip could see Eleanor !” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, with a 
glance of approbation at her beautiful daughter, “ he is such 
an enthusiast about symmetry of features and elegance of 
accomplishments, that I am sure he would appreciate her.” 
“ As far as the hands and feet can be cultivated, she is 
certainly unrivalled,” replied Lady Howard sarcastically; 
u and that is all Sir Philip will ever trouble his head about ; 
but my system comprehends rather more than yours, — and 
by the time I have finished reading all the books on educa- 
tion that are now on the table, I hope to have completed my 
new method, and that Matilda will have some mind, as well 
as manner, before she goes into the world.” 

Being desirous to see much of her nieces, Lady Olivia 
Neville resolved to settle, while they were in Edinburgh, 
at Ashgrove, a cottage only two miles distant, which had 
belonged to her husband, and where she had spent many 
of her happiest years, before the afflicting period, when their 
children had withered, like blossoms of spring, in her arms, 
and the beloved partner of her sorrow had himself been so 
suddenly snatched away. It was a lovely retreat, which an 
artist might have desired to paint, or a poet to sing, as the 
appropriate refuge of innocence and peace. The house was 
smaller than might have been required with her very liberal 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


29 


income, but it was well adapted to Lady Olivia’s secluded 
habits ; and its rustic elegance, and cheerful aspect, pleased 
the taste of all who saw it. The wide casements of the 
windows were wreathed with China roses, passion flowers, 
and garlands of clematis, and the porch was embowered 
with luxuriant jessamine, varied by the gayer blossoms of 
the golden budliah, and the crimson fuschia, while the air 
was perfumed with the aromatic flavor of the delicious ver- 
bena, and the luxuriant sweet-briar. A lovely green lawn 
sloped to the edge of the deep blue sea, and was washed by 
its waves, — the garden was covered with a rich and brilliant 
tapestry of flowers, and a grove of lofty sycamores and 
beeches varied, by their dark embowering foliage, the 
brightness and gayety of the surrounding scene, while the 
patches of light that stole through the branches, gave va- 
riety to the velvet turf beneath. Not a sound was to be 
heard but the song of the blackbird and thrush, — the deep 
cooing of the wood-pigeon, the sighing of the breeze, and 
the roar of the ocean. Lady Olivia delighted to dwell 
amidst the sounds, as well as the sights of nature. The wild 
cry of the sea-bird was music to her ears, at a time when 
her blighted heart would have recoiled from more harmoni- 
ous tones. The conflict of the elements reminded her of 
Him who rides in the whirlwind, and the dashing of the 
mountain stream over its pebbly bed, brought to her re- 
membrance that voice which has been compared to the 
sound of many waters. There was not a changing hue in 
the smallest leaf which she did not view with interest as 
connected with Him who orders each revolving season, — 
there was not an insect beneath her feet in which she could 
not trace her Maker’s hand, — and the sublimest features in 
the surrounding landscape acquired grandeur and interest 
in her conception, when she reflected, that they had been 
called forth from nothing by the word of His power. 

“ This earth is said • to be but a leaf in the forest, com- 
pared with countless worlds by which we are surrounded,” 
thought she, u and I am one individual among the genera- 
tions that are successively swept from its surface. With 
what an pppressive sense of nothingness should I be over- 
powered by such a reflection, were it not for the merciful as- 
surance of God’s own word, that in His eye, no human soul 
is insignificant, and were it not for the mighty proof He 
has given of His care over us, in sending His only Son to 
die, that we might live in His presence forever.” 


30 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


As Eleanor and Matilda had masters for every hour of 
every day during the week, it was at length granted to the 
earnest entreaty of Lady Olivia,, that each Saturday should be 
spent with her, and nothing could exceed the eagerness and 
joy with which they both anticipated that morning which 
was destined to gild the gloom of the whole preceding week, 
and give them some hours of natural enjoyment after the 
heartless toil to which they were incessantly inured. Lady 
Olivia seemed to forget every care, from the moment they 
arrived at her house, except that of affording rational and 
varied amusement. She entered into all their diversions, 
and continually planned new pleasures that never would 
have occurred to themselves, so that all the joyous recol- 
lections of happy childhood became connected with their 
visit to Ashgrove. She laid out gardens for both of them, 
which were embellished according to their individual direc- 
tions, and to which she carefully attended herself during 
their absence. She had poneys for them to ride, and poul- 
try and pets of every kind which belonged entirely to them- 
selves, and by such a continual sympathy with their juve- 
nile tastes, she acquired unlimited influence over their affec- 
tions. 

When Eleanor and Matilda were one evening taking 
leave of their aunt, she was surprised to observe an un- 
wonted cloud of disappointment and chagrin on their usu- 
ally animated countenances, of which she had some diffi- 
culty in ascertaining the reason. 

“ Aunt Barbara wished us not to mention what she said,” 
replied Matilda, when Lady Olivia affectionately inquired 
the cause of her vexation. 

“ But I hate small secrets, and there can be no good cause 
for keeping this,” interrupted Eleanor, “ Aunt Barbara says 
that since there is to be a sermon in church next Saturday, 
previous to the Sacrament, we shall be an interruption by 
coming here, and that therefore it would show a proper de- 
gree of consideration for your engagements to remain at 
home.” 

“ My dear girls ! how glad I am that this is explained, for 
the disappointment would have been quite as great to me 
as to yourselves,” said Lady Olivia affectionately. “My 
duties on the present occasion, though very solemn and im- 
portant to myself, cannot interfere with your coming, es- 
pecially as I am confident you will gladly conform in some 
measure to my circumstances in the prospect of so soon at- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


31 


tending the Sacrament, and that our conversation in the 
evening may be rather of a more serious nature than usual.” 

If Miss Neville had dropt the most distant hint of a 
“ serious’’ conversation, both Eleanor and Matilda would 
have dreaded something very much resembling a scold ; but 
with Lady Olivia they felt safe, and only anticipated a more 
interesting discussion than usual of that one great subject, 
which was more or less connected with all she ever said to 
them, and therefore, on the following Saturday, they en- 
tered her room with their usual expression of joyful hilar- 
ity, which was reflected in the looks of Lady Olivia when 
she tenderly embraced and welcomed them. “ Before you 
ride, or go to the garden, my dear girls, I wish to produce 
the present that I promised you lately,” said she, display- 
ing two large and splendidly bound Bibles, which Eleanor 
and Matilda received with the most joyous expressions of 
gratitude and pleasure, examining the ornaments and the 
type with the air of connoisseurs, and expressing themselves 
completely satisfied with both, and delighted to possess such 
treasures. 

“ Many fervent prayers have accompanied them,” said 
Lady Olivia in a voice of tremulous emotion, “ and many 
more shall often ascend before the throne of grace, that you 
may always place a due value on the contents of that book. 
I have frequently advised you each to read the Bible as a 
message to your own soul, and as if it had been written for 
no other individual in the world but yourself, and I trust 
you pray frequently, that He who sends it as His best gift 
to man, will also grant the teaching of His Holy Spirit, 
which can alone enable us to understand and appreciate it.” 

Matilda placed her hand affectionately in that of her 
aunt, and gazed at her with earnest and grateful attention, 
while Eleanor continued to examine her own recent acqui- 
sition, and to admire its elegant decorations, and beautiful 
title page. 

“ We are living at a period, my dear girls, when but too 
many Christians are £ more curious than devout,’ more occu- 
pied respecting ‘ new nothings than old truths,’ and I am 
anxious to take this opportunity of warning you against 
endeavoring to be wise above that which is written. While 
others dispute, let us enjoy, for be assured, that one spark 
of love to God is worth a folio volume of opinions.” 

“Yes!” said Matilda, ‘“Out of the heart proceed the 
issues of life,’ and I recollect your saying, that a person 


32 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


who can talk fluently on religious subjects, without feeling 
them, knows no more than if a blind man discussed the 
beauties of nature, which he had never seen.” 

“ Precisely,” continued Lady Olivia, “ and it is impossi- 
ble to express how much I am often astonished and dis- 
tressed to hear the spirit of vehement and angry warfare in 
which many people read and debate upon those blessed 
Scriptures which awakened the earliest affections of my 
own childhood, and seemed, even then, completely adapted 
to my taste and capacity, — which afterwards followed me 
in my happiest hours, w r ith still brighter promises of hope, 
and in all my sorrows, cheered me with sympathy and con- 
solation, so that they have seemed continually like the eyes 
of a picture that were directed towards myself in every 
changing scene of life, — but now how sadly have I seen 
them perverted into food for violent contention and pre- 
sumptuous speculation.” 

“ I often feel the truth of that remark when we have visit- 
ors at home,” said Matilda ; “ they seem, as you once ob- 
served, so full of definitions and metaphysical distinctions, 
that they are like people who would not quench their thirst 
with a draught from the purest spring, unless they could 
analyze its contents, — nor rest their wearied frames on a 
couch, without proving that it was intended for themselves, 
when both appear so suited to their necessities, that it would 
be most natural at once thankfully to make use of the re- 
freshment they offer.” 

“ True, my dear Matilda, most true !” replied Lady 
Olivia, contemplating her animated countenance with the 
tenderest interest. “ The Bible seems to me a medium, 
clear as glass, through which I can trace with daily increas- 
ing pleasure the glory of God our Father, — the mercy of 
Christ our Saviour, — the purity of the Spirit our sanctifier, 
and the happiness of heaven already begun upon earth, in 
ihe character and feelings of those who are rightly prepared 
for it. I see in myself, that the sufferings of life are most 
justly deserved, being chiefly caused by our own evil hearts, 
— and that all the peace I have ever known comes imme- 
diately from God, and I thankfully believe, that in his own 
good time and way, He will perfect that work of mercy in 
my soul, which I have so long and so earnestly prayed Him 
to accomplish. I can trace back, through the remembrance 
of many past years, the wise and necessary discipline of a 
Father’s hand, — it is not yet completed, — but what is once 


UK THE MARCH OP INTELLECT. S3 

begun on my behalf, will yet be perfected by a power far 
greater than mine ; and I can confidently await the purpose 
of God’s providence towards me, in every unforeseen cir- 
cumstance of life, desiring that each wish of my heart may 
be implicitly prostrated before his will, and that he would 
order all things as shall be most for my own real good, and 
for His glory. 

u Eleanor and Matilda ! my dear children, the only chil- 
dren now remaining to me, — it is seldom I dare trust my- 
self in conversation with even a transient glance at the past ; 
there are inward sorrows that never leave my thoughts, but 
are buried there in perpetual silence ; yet, for once, I have 
desired to open my heart to you both, in the full belief and 
hope, that it will the more securely confirm our mutual con- 
fidence and affection. You already know how the whole 
sunshine of my existence became suddenly darkened, — how 
all earthly hope was crushed at once, — how every succeed- 
ing year has been one of loneliness and sorrow ; but you 
cannot know how the afflictions that were ready to destroy 
me have been alleviated. Could any ray of hope have 
cheered me in this world, seeing that the husband and chil- 
dren who were dearer to me than life, can never be restored? 
yet in this precious volume I read of promises which are 
daily drawing nearer to their fulfilment,— many of which 
have been realized to me already, and which I expect to 
find sufficient in that hour, when all else, that I could have 
ever known or trusted to, must fail. May neither of you, 
my dear girls, ever need the consolations of Scripture so 
much as I have done ; but in every emergency I cannot 
wish you more, than that they prove as perfectly sufficient 
as I invariably find them, for truly these words of Scripture 
cannot fail to be fulfilled : 4 He who trusteth in God shall 
never be put to confusion.’ ” 

2 * 


34 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


CHAPTER III. 


Talking is not always to converse ; 

Not more remote from harmony divine 
The constant creaking of a country sign. 

Cowper. 


It may be easily imagined, that amidst the vortex ofgayet} 
and business in which Lady Fitz-Patrick and Lady Howard 
involved themselves, they very rarely snatched a moment to 
look in at the quiet retreat of Lady Olivia Neville, yet both 
these ladies felt an involuntary respect and affection for her, 
which kept them in a continual state of self-reproach, when- 
ever she occurred to their recollection with the usual re- 
membrance of “ what an age it was since they had seen her 
and their ingenuity was continually exercised in the compo- 
sition of apologetic notes, written on pink and blue embossed 
paper, setting forth how inconsolable they felt, that the most 
indispensable business had occupied them constantly during 
the last few weeks, or that they had been actually on their 
way down to visit her when one of the horses fell lame. A 
great impediment in the way of their going to Ashgrove 
more frequently was, that both Lady Fitz-Patrick and Lady 
Howard had an instinctive dread of visiting there alone. 
Lady Olivia had never made a censorious remark to either 
of them, but yet the tenor of her own occupations, pursuits, 
and opinions, was so obviously at variance with theirs, that 
the whole course of her existence was inevitably felt as a 
sort of tacit reproach to themselves ; and they could not 
avoid occasionally placing their minds in the same elevation 
from which she viewed the busy scenes of life, and perceiv- 
ing for a moment, with her eyes, the insignificance and folly 
of all that occupied and interested them. 

There was a degree of peace and serenity in the aspect of 
Lady Olivia’s retired little dwelling, that insensibly spoke 
the language of nature to their hearts, for it seemed like the 
breath of morning to a fevered soul, or like the calmness of 
healthful repose after the tossings of delirium, when their 
eyes rested on the refreshing sight of nature’s loveliness 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 35 

At no season of the year did that solitary retreat appear 
otherwise than beautiful, whether it were in the depth of 
winter, when the crisp hoar-frost had spangled the turf and 
the ivy with a light unbroken powdering of purest white, or 
when the rich tints of autumn were first beginning to glow 
upon the surrounding woods ; or in spring, that brightest 
season of all, which seems to break upon our delighted 
senses anew every successive year, as if we had never before 
witnessed its joyous opening enlivened by the sunny hedge- 
rows bursting into life ; the fresh bright tints of the forest ; 
the early blossom of the fruit-trees ; the tufts of primroses 
and violets, the lilacs, rhododendrons, and laburnums, the 
snow drops and hyacinths, enamelling every bank ; the soft 
gentle breeze : the clear blue sky, and the chorus of a thou- 
sand songsters. Even the hackneyed minds of those like 
Lady Eitz-Patrick and Lady Howard, whose joys were all 
artificial, could not but pause in such scenes for a moment, 
to ask themselves whether the tumultuous pleasures of their 
existence were not dearly purchased at the price of such 
peace as the world knows not of, and which they had never 
experienced themselves, though they could trace its exist- 
ence and its influence in the calm and dignified countenance 
of Lacly Olivia Neville, whose whole aspect and deportment 
showed the serenity that reigned within, undisturbed by a 
single care respecting the busy competitions and petty rival- 
ships of fashionable life, and only anxious to preserve that 
peace in her heart and in her home, which she felt to be the 
true secret of happiness. 

Whatever length of time might elapse between the visits 
of her sisters-in-law, Lady Olivia received them with inva- 
riable kindness. She expressed no surprise at their ab- 
sence, but welcomed them with the most cordial affection, 
and patiently listened to the whole torrent of their apologies 
and regrets with a satisfactory aspect of credulity and good 
humor. On similar occasions, Miss Barbara Neville gene- 
rally overwhelmed her sisters with bitter civilities and sar- 
castic remarks, “ wondering that they could find any time 
at all to waste on such an insignificant person as herself, re- 
marking how lonely she must have felt but for dear Lady 
Such-a-one, who never neglected her friends when they re- 
quired attention;” and sometimes affecting not to recognize 
them when they first entered the room, and then dryly ob- 
serving, that u really when people met so seldom, it could 


36 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


not be wondered at, if her memory failed, and she expected 
they would soon be strangers altogether.” 

When Lady Howard did venture to Ashgrove, she made 
a point of always arriving brimful of news, taking it for 
granted, that nothing could be more delightful to a hermit 
like Lady Olivia, than to be put au courant du jour about 
the affairs of the world, and to be informed what had been 
thought of the king’s last speech in the House of Commons, 
and when Parliament was likely to be dissolved. She gene- 
rally brought all the most recent newspapers and pamphlets 
in her hand to leave at the cottage, and recommended a per- 
fect library of new books, which it was absolutely essential 
for every mortal to read. Ileligion being a branch of litera- 
ture, was sometimes introduced also for Lady Olivia’s edifi- 
cation, and most fluently discussed. There was generally 
some point of deep controversy, which had caused a great 
deal of wit and learning to be recently expended, and where- 
in squadrons of texts were drawn up against each other in 
hostile array, and in whatever form the attacks or replies 
might be laid before the public, Lady Howard brought the 
whole packet of them as an appropriate gift for her sister-in- 
law, who found great difficulty in politely evading the prom- 
ise which was often nearly extorted from her, that she would 
carefully study the subject, and mark the passages she ap- 
proved of! 

Lady Fitz- Patrick was equally kind and communicative 
in her own line, during her visits to Lady Olivia, for whose 
amusement she generally began with announcing a long list 
of marriages between persons whom her auditor had never 
seen or heard of, with an elaborate description of the trous- 
seaux and settlements. She had frequently some quarrel 
with her milliner to give the particulars of — or a new lady’s 
maid, whose qualifications must be described. Sometimes, 
also, she enlarged at great length on the splendor of her 
last new carriages, or on the magnificence of some recent 
addition to her jewel-box, being scarcely able to persuade 
herself that such a recital should not awaken some degree 
of that interest and envy in the breast of Lady Olivia which 
they infallibly excited in ordinary minds ; but the mere 
spectacle of life had never at any time power to raise the 
most transient eipotion in one who acknowledged no hap- 
piness but that which sprung from the heart ; and Lady 
Fitz-Patrick little thought it was only when she made some 
passing allusion to her husband or children, that a sigh rose 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT, 


37 


from the inmost feelings of Lady Olivia, when she reflected 
that if her’s had been spared, no splendor could have added 
to her happiness, nor any poverty diminished it. Occa- 
sionally in her conversation, Lady Fitz-Patrick stumbled on 
some anecdote of the theatre, which was hastily suppressed, 
as not being suitable to her auditor ; but there was another 
ground upon which she always felt perfectly secure. Every 
instance she could mention was carefully hoarded up for 
her visits to Ashgrove of the dreadful crowds she had en- 
countered to hear some celebrated preacher, and of the rap- 
turous admiration with which he had filled her. His style, 
his language, his voice, his manner, were all described and 
commented pn with the most enthusiastic delight, and she 
generally wound up the whole by eagerly insisting, that 
Lady Olivia ought to drive to town the following Sunday, 
and enjoy such a treat as she has described. 

There was often an air of good-humored patronage in 
the tone of both Lady Fitz-Patrick and Lady Howard, when 
they took leave after paying what they considered a succes- 
ful and entertaining visit, and their repeated promises to 
return very soon, were reiterated in a voice which plainly 
showed what a favor their coming at all really ought to be 
considered. If they arrived, as was often the case, during 
Lady Olivia’s dinner, they smiled at her early hours, and 
simple diet, but she was always ready to join in the laugh, 
and to insist on its being their luncheon, as she maintained 
that her own country fare ought to be an agreeable variety, 
after the u toujours perdrix ” to which they were accustomed 
at home. u You certainly paean to live for ever, Olivia ! as 
one might suppose that Saneho’s doctor had banished all 
your dressed dishes every day,” said Lady Howard laugh- 
ingly, drawing in her chair opposite to her hostess, one af- 
ternoon at Ashgrove. u There is surely a stereotyped edi- 
tion of this roast mutton in your house, for I see it so often 
here.” 

u £ When unadorned, adorned the most,’ is a favorite 
motto in my kitchen,” replied Lady Olivia, smiling ; “ I 
could always resist the machinations of your French cook, 
with his pates a la merveille , and his soujftets d Voutrance , for 
I really think my own good honest Mrs. Millar worth all 
the Monsieur Chef-d’oeuvres that ever were imported ; I 
like always to have some guess what we are eating, and my 
housekeeper’s dinners are about as plain and unsophisticated 
as herself,” 


38 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


Mrs. Millar, to whom Lady Olivia alluded, was quite a 
domestic of the old school. Devotedly attached to her 
mistress, whom she had served for more than twenty years, 
she was a perfect enthusiast in all that related to her own 
department, and managed to inspire the same spirit intc 
all her assistants. No one was ever known to excel Mrs. 
Millar in the excellence of her preserves ; she had gained 
a prize at the Highland Society twice for her balm and 
gooseberry wine, and her cakes and jellies were beyond all 
comparison the best in the whole neighborhood. Lady 
Howard seldom failed to gratify the honest pride of Mrs. 
Millar, by visiting the housekeeper’s room, where large 
presses of snowy damask were ostentatiously thrown open 
for her inspection, and an extensive range of fine old china 
displayed with an unconcealed exultation. On these occa- 
sions Lady Howard always pretended to mistake Mrs. Mil- 
lar’s elder wine for champaigne, and generally poached up- 
on her preserves, as she called it, by carrying away some 
jars of sweetmeats for breakfast next morning. Mrs. Mil- 
lar employed all the old women in the neighborhood to 
spin, — she assisted Lady Olivia in superintending her Sun- 
day School, and acted as the doctor’s deputy in the village. 
But her chief glory was in her poultry yard and dairy, 
which she kept in exquisite order ; swarms of bantams, 
turkeys, ducks, peacocks, and guinea fowls, answered to her 
call, flocking around her in cheerful animation, and the 
pride of her heart was to take Lady Howard and Lady 
Fitz-Patrick to admire the pyramids of newly laid eggs, 
and of cheeses meant to pass for Stilton, which were ranged 
on the white marble shelves of her dairy, along with dishes 
of the richest cream and of the most exquisite butter, bear- 
ing testimony to the skill and activity of her management. 

Mrs. Millar’s cares, however, were not confined to any 
one department of the house, for they extended over every 
thing, — the exquisite neatness of the rooms, the spotless 
whiteness of Lady Olivia’s muslins and laces, were all ow- 
ing to the active zeal of Mrs. Millar, who would have 
abridged her natural rest, rather than have left a single 
servant without her own careful superintendence. “ I be- 
lieve you would start out of bed at midnight, if you sus- 
pected that a grain of dust was lurking in any part of the 
house, and never rest again until it was dislodged,” said 
Lady Howard one day, in a tone of good-humored raillery ; 
“ pray tell me candidly, Mrs. Millar, have you forty-eight 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


39 


hours 111 a day. or how do you manage to get through all 
your clerical, medical, and magisterial duties in this 
house ?” 

u Why, madam ! I always consider it a Christian duty to 
be active in whatever is given us to do, within our own 
sphere,” replied Mrs. Millar, in a tone of honest satisfac- 
tion. “ As worthy John Newton says, my lady, if a Chris- 
tian man is appointed to be only a shoe-black, he will try to 
be the best shoe-black in the parish.” 

Equally active in his own place, and far more consequen- 
tial, was Harley, the old butler, whose reverence for Lady 
Olivia seemed the main-spring of his whole existence. 
She often smiled to see the fresh flowers he gathered every 
morning to decorate her breakfast-table, and he made a 
point of serving up her simple fare with as much form and 
state as if she had been surrounded by a whole troop of do- 
mestics. When Harley attended on his mistress at dinner, 
in his silk stockings, buckles, and well powdered hair, no 
one would have supposed that his mornings were devoted to 
the garden, where he might be seen by the peep 'of day toil- 
ing amidst the straggling honeysuckles, or drilling a whole 
regiment of carnations. Lady Fitz-Patrick usually fell 
into raptures with all the finest camelias, chrysanthemums, 
heliotropes, and geraniums, which Lady Olivia delighted 
to see her gather, and answered all her apologies for do- 
ing so, with the heartfelt assurance that she felt better re- 
compensed for the trouble of rearing flowers, if they gave 
pleasure to another, than when they wasted their sweets in 
the desert air. 

Lady Howard always expressed her wonder that Lady 
Olivia had not purchased some new plant which was re- 
cently invented or imported from Terra Incognita, without 
which no conservatory could be worth a glance. She ridi- 
culed the garden for its contracted dimensions, too, and 
once remarked on its being so limited, that if ever there 
were too much rain, Harley might shelter it all with an 
umbrella. Lady Olivia never seemed in the least degree 
annoyed with either the raillery or the condescension of her 
sisters-in-law, but cheerfully entered into their jests, when 
these were merely directed at herself. She had been long 
and painfully sensible, that her words were listened to with 
restraint and distrust, whenever she attempted to introduce 
any thing tending to seriousness in conversation, and that 
the smallest item of a religious sentiment was looked upon 


40 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


as the giving out of a text, which must inevitably be fol 
lowed by a sermon, and therefore she tried to conciliate their 
confidence and regard, by attending to whatever they said 
with affectionate interest, and by evincing, that however tri- 
fling it might have appeared as relating to herself, yet in so 
far as her friends felt affected by circumstances, they be- 
came important to her, and Lady Olivia patiently awaited 
the time, when God in His good providence w r ould, she 
trusted and believed, give her a favorable opportunity of im- 
parting that light and peace to her nearest connexions, 
which she had been so often the means of communicating to 
comparative strangers. 

Sir Francis Howard w r as the most good-natured, easy 
man in the world, and dropped in continually upon Lady 
Olivia at all hours and in all weathers, without fear, doubt, 
or apprehension on the score of their religious differences. 
u I don’t know what you call a Methodist,” he often said, 
drawing in his chair at Ashgrove ; “ but if they are all like 
you, Olivia, I shall join the society myself.” When she 
spoke upon' religion, he leaned back in his chair, with 
smiling resignation, and patiently waited till Lady Olivia 
concluded, without making any reply or objection, having 
discovered that expedient to be the easiest way of getting 
over the subject, and then he talked about the game-laws, 
and his own preserves, described the last day’s hunting, 
and made her the confidante of all his grievances. If Sir 
Francis had his dogs ill broken, or if his moors had been 
poached, there were no bounds to the sympathy and com- 
miseration he expected. “ Poor soul !” said he to Lady 
Howard one day, u it does Olivia good when I invade her 
solitude now and then, to remind her that there is another 
human being in the world besides herself ; and if she likes 
to prose a little occasionally, it is well-meant and all fair, 
in return for the patience with which she listens to me. 
Lady Olivia certainly has had great distress, like other 
people ; and I never shall forget how kindly she entered 
into my feelings this morning, on the loss of poor Petru- 
chio !” 

“ Is Petruchio dead ! — that noble horse for which you 
paid two hundred guineas last year ; how very teazing !” 
exclaimed Lady Howard. 11 1 am sure, Sir Francis, the 
vulgar proverb about being as strong as a horse, cannot 
have originated in your stable, where they appear to do no 
thing but die. We shall soon be absolutely ruined.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


41 


“ So much the better !” replied Sir Francis. “Nothing 
can equal complete bankruptcy for setting one above the 
world, and all its trifling cares.” 

“ There is some truth in what you say,” answered Lady 
Howard. “ I observe people who have been considered per- 
fectly ruined, ever since I can recollect, and who never find 
a necessity for denying themselves any thing. It is a secret 
known only to the initiated, how they get on so well, but my 
old-fashioned idea of ruin, when people used to retrench, is 
quite exploded now, even among milliners and shop-keepers, 
who rise superior to the frowns of fortune, and expand into 
more splendid dimensions than ever, after being gazetted.” 

“ I remember seeing a book of Cobbett’s to show how a 
man may live well and keep his carriage on £500 a-year,” 
continued Sir Francis; “but some of my own friends are 
much cleverer, since they live well, and keep half a dozen 
hunters, upon nothing at all ; so I must apply to them for 
a hint or two upon ways and means, if your prophecy be 
ever realized, and we give up attempting to keep within the 
trammels of an income.” 

There were few things in the world that Sir Eichard 
Fitz-Patrick thought so seriously about as his dinner, and 
the cook had not more trouble in preparing ragouts, than 
he had himself in preparing an appetite. Dr. Mansfield had 
once jocularly told him, his only chance of health would be, 
to live on sixpence a day, and to earn it himself, as he re- 
quired so much exercise ; and therefore, occasionally, when 
Sir Eichard felt rather “ off his feed” as sportsmen express 
themselves, he extended his constitutional walk as far as 
Ashgrove ; but he considered it a waste of time to sit down 
above ten minutes, and, with compliments to Lady Olivia 
on the appetizing effects of sea air, and a steady refusal of 
any refreshment that might endanger the full enjoyment of 
his approaching meal, he generally hastened on, giving a 
glance of anxious solicitude at his watch, to ascertain 
whether he had left ample time to reach home with his 
usual punctuality for dinner. If Sir Eichard Fitz-Patrick 
could have been gifted with an unlimited power of eating 
and sleeping, his life would have been divided between these 
two states of enjoyment, for he knew nothing else that deserved 
the name of pleasure, and was often heard to declare, that 
the only thing in the twenty-four hours worth living for, 
was the sound of the gong. With such a person, it was dif- 
ficult for a mind like Lady Olivia’s, to find any subject of 


42 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


common interest But, independently of her kind feelings 
towards every one, she considered her connections as having 
been given to her by Providence for some wise purpose — 
that it was in the sphere where He had placed her that her 
most immediate duties were to be found, and that such in- 
fluence as she could gain over the mind of Sir Bichard Fitz- 
Patrick, by showing him all the kindness and courtesy in 
her power, was a trust which she must endeavor to preserve 
and to exercise for the advancement of religion in his heart, 
whenever an opportunity offered of impressing its import- 
ance, or of recommending its blessed influence, either by 
her example or her conversation. 

One morning, soon after Lady Fitz-Patrick and Lady 
How r ard had arrived, to settle for the season in Moray 
Place, Lady Olivia was, as usual, quietly seated in her bou- 
doir, surrounded with books and work — the table covered 
with flowers, and the sunshine streaming in at every win- 
dow — the tame robins hopping on the balcony, and not a 
sound to be heard but the autumn leaves rustling in the 
wind. It was the solitude she loved, and her eye rested 
pensively on those portraits that hung on the opposite wall, 
which were still the favorite companions of her thoughts. 
She meditated upon the blessed years of futurity, when 
every cherished hope of her existence would certainly be 
realized, and when in the presence of that God whom it was 
her happiness to serve, she should yet be restored to all that 
she had loved and mourned upon earth. The remembrance 
cheered her, of many around, whose sorrowful hearts she 
had comforted, and though weaned entirely from the world, 
and living entirely for another, she still occupied her thoughts 
with plans of unwearied benevolence, and generous kindness 
to all whom she could benefit. 

With such a heart, it was impossible that Lady Olivia 
could feel herself .alone, — wherever she turned, there was 
some object of interest, and whatever she did, had a mo- 
tive in it, which animated her to exertion ; — her’s was no 
dull and heartless routine of duties ; but whether in prayer, 
in solitary meditation, or in active employment, her chief 
pleasure was to do her Master’s work, and to feel that it 
was towards a world of endless glory, whither she was hast- 
ening herself, and endeavoring to allure others by her ex- 
ample and her influence. If there was any pleasure in the 
world which Lady Olivia Neville supremely valued, it was 
the privacy she enjoyed in her own home, the hours of 


OR TIIE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


43 


peaceful retirement and holy meditation, which she spent 
as we have described, in the solitude of her boudoir, — and 
a shade of deep regret passed over her countenance when 
she opened her writing-desk on the morning in question, 
and wrote a letter of considerable length, which she hastily 
sealed and instantly despatched. “ It must be done,” 
thought she with a sigh, as Harley closed the door, “ let 
no selfish consideration interfere with this duty, — ought 
not I rather to rejoice that something can now be sacri- 
ficed as a proof that it is not in mere idle words, but 
indeed and in truth, that I place all I have, and all I en 
joy, at the disposal of Him who appoints every trial, and 
who will give me His blessing only in the line of duty, and 
of cheerful obedience.” 

Soon after Lady Olivia had resumed her reading, the 
door was unexpectedly thrown open by Harley, to an- 
nounce Lady Fitz-Patrick and Lady Howard, who called 
so much earlier than they had ever done before, that his 
curiosity was evidently aroused, and he stirred the fire, 
which was already in a blaze, and lingered for some mo- 
ments to arrange the tables, though they were always in 
perfect order ; but Lady Howard waited impatiently till 
his manoeuvres were exhausted, and the instant he left the 
room she began upon the object of her visit in a tone of 
great anxiety and vexation. u My dear Olivia ! we are 
come to request what you seldom olfer, though you can al- 
ways give it of the best quality when required, — I mean a 
little morsel of good advice — you have heard no doubt of 
Barbara’s misfortune ! it turns out to be quite certain, that 
her agent has failed, and all her little fortune is utterly 
lost! — she is at this moment quite penniless! Now we 
know, that whatever is most judicious and most generous 
will at once occur to you, and we mean to place ourselves 
entirely in your hands to act towards her on this occasion 
as your wisdom and kindness may suggest.” 

“ Thank you, Maria,” replied Lady Olivia warmly, 
“ I heard what you tell me last night with sincere regret, 
and was anxious that we should all consult together what is 
best to be done. In one respect, I have perhaps anticipat- 
ed you both. I need scarcely remind you,” she added, in a 
tone of deep but suppressed emotion, while the color glowed 
for a moment on her sorrow-stricken countenance, “ I need 
not remind you ivho would have been Barbara’s kindest 
friend, and her natural protector now, had he been merciful 


44 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


ly spared. I know that in such a case, her home would 
have been in her brother’s house, and I have therefore 
written this morning to beg that she will come here immedi 
ately, and remain as long as it suits her.” 

A pause of speechless surprise, on the part of her visitors, 
followed this unexpected declaration. 

“ Impossible, Olivia ! are you distracted ?” exclaimed 
Lady Fitz-Patrick, in a tone of animated remonstrance, 
“ I never heard of such a rash act in my life ! why ! she may 
stay with you perhaps forever /” 

“ So I expect, and perhaps it is better that she should,” 
replied Lady Olivia, calmly ; “ we are told it is not good 
for any one to be alone, and you know, Sophia, it may be 
more cheerful at dinner to hear another knife and fork in 
action besides my own, and my solitary tea-cup will look 
less deserted at breakfast with another to keep it in coun- 
tenance.” 

“ If you thought so, Olivia, there are always many of 
your own selected friends ready to take advantage of your 
slightest invitation. I know how they all prize your soci- 
ety,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, “and you will never be able 
to have them here in peace or comfort again.” 

“ This plan will never do !” observed Lady Howard em- 
phatically, “ for my own part I would give up half my in- 
come to Barbara with pleasure , but as for tolerating her 
society during more than half an hour in the day, it is an 
utter impossibility ; and how much more insufferable must 
she be to a mind like yours. Barbara is a perpetual parody 
upon yourself, Olivia — and if ever I am inclined to admire 
the Christian character in you, I have only to look at her 
and be disgusted.” 

“Why should you look at either of us?” said Lady 
Olivia earnestly ; “ no human being can ever fairly represent 
the Christian character, — we are at best but faint and blun- 
dering copies of that great and perfect original, which was 
once exhibited on earth for our imitation ; and instead of 
lamenting the failures, or even emulating the success of 
those around, is it not better to keep our attention fixed on 
that divine portrait which the scriptures hold up to our 
view, till we can appreciate all its beauties and imitate its 
perfections ?” 

“ Say what you please,” continued Lady Howard smiling. 
w but you and Barbara together will inevitably remind me of 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


45 


the unfortunate prisoners that were chained by Mezentius 
to a dead body !” 

“ No, no,” replied Lady Olivia seriously, “we shall suit 
each other much better than you imagine, particularly now , 
that your sister is unfortunate. I know she is sincerely in- 
terested in religion, — and that, though we differ in some 
points, we shall agree with respect to its infinite importance 
and its inexhaustible consolations.” 

“Well, Olivia, on this occasion, as on every other, you 
judge more charitably than any one else,” said Lady How- 
ard affectionately, “ Barbara’s religion, if she had any, would 
be like the blazing of a comet, and yours shines like a star 
with mild unchanging lustre, which never seemed more 
lovely to me than at this moment. All you ever say is suit- 
able to the dignity and seriousness of the subject ; but when- 
ever my sister speaks of religion, I think she is as complete- 
ly out of good sense and good taste as the pious, well-meaning 
old woman who said she had one foot in the grave and the 
other in the stars.” 

“ What carriage is this that I see approaching?” asked 
Lady Fitz-Patrick from her seat in the window. 

“I had ordered mine to convey me to Edinburgh,” re- 
plied Lady Olivia, “ but since you have not yet called for 
Barbara, we may as well go together, and send my chariot 
away.” 

“ Thank you,” said Lady Howard dryly, “ but I would 
rather not face Barbara yet. She knows I dare not fly 
out upon her in the midst of all these misfortunes, so she 
would be tremendously sententious to-day. and very pro- 
bably bestow a volley of admonitions on myself: — no, 
Olivia — you are the only person on earth who could have 
patience to stand the first explosion of Barbara’s common- 
places, so pray go alone, and set us an example of martyr- 
dom.” 

“ Say every thing kind and civil from me,” added Lady 
Fitz-Patrick ; “ we shall certainly call some day soon ; and 
in the mean time settle what you please as to pecuniary 
affairs, for Sir Richard has been exceedingly genteel on the 
occasion, and says he will concur with myself in any ar- 
rangement you suggest.” 

“ I have been calculating this morning,” said Lady Olivia, 
that the income which remained to Barbara, beyond the 
amount of her house-rent, was so very trifling, that by shar- 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


46 

ing the expense amongst us, we might very easily settle an 
annuity upon her for life equal to what. she has lost.” 

11 Agreed,” exclaimed Lady Howard, u only I must move 
one amendment in our little committee on ways and means, 
that the honorable member who spoke last shall be exempted 
from any share in the subscription, having already done only 
too much.” 

“ Remember, Maria, whom it is that I represent on this 
occasion,” said Lady Olivia mournfully ; “ I have fewer 
claims on my purse, and on my time, than you, and it will 
gratify my whole heart, if either of them can be serviceable 

to one who was the companion of , of his childhood, 

and whom I know he sincerely loved.” 

“ Then, if you will not take my advice, I shall at least 
take yours replied Lady Howard, u and whatever is the 
amount of our settlement on Barbara, Sir Francis says he 
shall consider it as his annual tribute to all sorts of schools, 
and to every branch of every society that ever was, or ever 
may be established.” 

“ Barbara’s money has always been very liberally be- 
stowed,” replied Lady Olivia gravely, w and as far as she 
could she made it useful.” 

u Look me in the face, and say you are quite serious,” 
exclaimed Lady Howard in a tone of incredulity ; “ my dear 
Olivia, your own charities are so judicious, that you cannot 
surely approve of all the novelties on which Barbara scatters 
her funds. I admire your Bible and Missionary Societies, 
where the means are in some degree adequate to the under- 
taking, and some foreign objects are well deserving the 
attention ; but as for my sister — why, her whole fortune 
goes for the education of Greek children, and to establish 
schools in Greenland and the Cape de Verd Islands, — our 
own poor Highlanders are much too accessible to be fit 
objects for her compassion. She would spend £50 in send- 
ing a schoolmaster to the banks of the Mississippi ; but not 
a guinea to establish one in the wilds of Argyles’hire. She 
is secretary to a society of ladies for transporting all the 
people of color from America to the coast of Africa, of whom 
she assured me, that there were not above 20,000, and the 
expense only £3 for each man ; but she would not find the 
same excitement in subscribing to enlighten and feed the 
starving and ignorant population of Ireland. Many ladies, 
whom I know and respect, unite such active benevolence, 
and such cautious discretion, in their charities, that, though 


OR TIIE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


41 


they are unknown to the world in general, their influence is 
felt wherever sickness or sorrow, or even guilt, can be en- 
lightened or relieved, among the destitute of their own sex ; 
they personally superintend those institutions which are for 
the good of others, and without any peculiarities of dress, or 
of idiom, might justly be designated as Protestant Sisters 
of Charity ; but I like to see people’s schemes of benevo- 
lence within the sphere of possibility, otherwise their plans 
are no better than if they took the fuel out of a grate to 
diffuse its genial warmth more extensively by scattering it 
over the ground.” 

“ Still, though some of the fire might be wasted, more 
would remain than where no effort whatever is made in the 
sacred cause,” replied Lady Olivia. u I always encourage 
people to bestow as much as they are inclined to part with 
on charitable errands ; for whatever be the object, the more 
they give the more they will be inclined to give again ; and 
you may feel assured that, to the best of her judgment, 
Barbara will be a faithful steward of whatever our better 
fortune enables us to spare.” 

“ As usual, Olivia, you remind me of Mr. Allworthy in 
the novel, where it was said that the judgment of the best 
of heads was often misled by the tenderness of the best of 
hearts,” replied Lady Howard affectionately ; “ if all the 
world were like you, we should already feel as if heaven 
were come upon earth.” 

11 Maria,” said Lady Olivia, “ you must not be entirely 
blinded by partiality, for I shall feel guilty of hypocrisy if 
you think better of me than I deserve ; the only thing in 
which I approach to what I should be is, in the knowledge 
of myself, and that keeps me humble. But if we could sup- 
pose the world to be peopled with such perfect beings as 
you have imagined, let us recollect that we should still want 
what is the first object of every Christian’s desire — the en- 
joyment of God’s presence for ever in heaven.” 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


43 


CHAPTER IV. 


“ Some quit their sphere, and rush into the skies.” 


Miss Barbara Neville outdid Lady Howard’s utmost an 
ticipations during Lady Olivia’s visit of condolence. She 
talked of her trials as if no human being had ever suffered 
before ; and she spoke volumes of beautifully-expressed re- 
signation, though at the same time she could not but say it 
was a mysterious Providence that she should be deprived 
of aH means of usefulness, while others, who wasted their 
substance in luxury and dissipation, were still left to enjoy 
prosperity and comfort. 

Many were the vain attempts that Lady Olivia made to 
be heard ; for her gentle tones were invariably drowned in 
the superior volubility of Miss Barbara, who always an- 
swered her own remarks, and fancied that she could antici- 
pate what was to be said, or that her sententious reflections, 
and long-winded sentiments, would be still more suitable and 
interesting than any thing that could possibly be elicited by 
another. An hour had nearly elapsed, before Lady Olivia 
could attract Miss Neville’s attention to the arrangement 
which had been made for her future comfort, by Lady Fitz- 
Patrick, and Lady Howard, to whom their ambassadress 
gave all the credit that was possible, and rather more than 
was their due in the business. 

u I hope, my dear Barbara,” she continued, in a soothing 
tone, “ that you will soon feel but slight cause to regret this 
little vexation, as it occasions no actual change to you, ex- 
cept that we shall be more together in future than we have 
ever been before.” 

“ That is a mutual advantage certainly,” replied Miss 
Neville, 11 and it will be some consolation on this trying oc- 
casion, if, in return for the comfortable home you have 
offered me, I may yet hope to be a great means of usefulness 
to yourself Tnere are many important points, my dear 
Olivia, on which I have long thought you extremely defec- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 4U 

tive ; and nothing is more advantageous to any one, as I am 
sure you will be the first to acknowledge, than to associate 
with farther advanced Christians than yourself ; it will there- 
fore give me real pleasure to introduce many of my sweet 
inestimable friends to your intimate acquaintance ; and I 
hope soon to see you quite one of ourselves.” 

“ I cannot answer for that,” said Lady Olivia, in a mild 
but firm tone. “ Your friends, Barbara, shall always be 
most welcome at Ashgrove, whenever they choose to visit 
you there ; and I have desired my little boudoir to be pre- 
pared, that they may be received at all times in it, without 
restraint or interruption. But as to my own visitors, the 
few intimate friends with whom I now wish to hold much 
intercoijrse, must be chosen by myself. We shall have 
many opportunities together of discussing whatever you 
think likely to benefit me ; and by uniting to study the 
Scriptures, with fervent prayer and deep humility, we shall 
both obtain that teaching of the Spirit, which can alone 
enable us to distinguish truth from error, and right from 
wrong.” 

“ True,” answered Miss Barbara, in an indifferent tone ; 
u but,” added she, eagerly, “ I have a sweet tract to show 
you, by dear Miss Eachel Stodart, proving, that in every 
text of Scripture, without exception, we may find three 
meanings, literal, figurative, and prophetical. You must do 
me the favor to study it carefully, and I am confident there 
are many things in it that never struck you before.” 

“Very probably,” said Lady Olivia; “but you know, 
Barbara, that the Bible, in its clearest possible interpreta- 
tion, is the only test I acknowledge of the truth or import- 
ance of any doctrine. It was not written merely for meta- 
physicians or philosophers to exercise their ingenuity on ; 
but we are told that it is meant to teach us a safe and simple 
path, in which the way-faring man, though a fool, cannot 
err. Let scholars and divines explore for us those heights 
which no human intellect can entirely reach, and those 
depths which the utmost wisdom of man has never been 
able to fathom ; but a woman’s place, as represented in the 
gospel, is always one of simple devotion, and of humble 
though active duties.” 

“ You give us rather a narrow sphere,” replied Miss Bar- 
bara in a tone of pique ; “ but my mind is not so easily 
tethered as yours.” 

“ Recollect the examples of all the most eminent women 

3 


50 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


in scripture,” continued Lady Olivia. “ Mary stood by tlio 
cross of Christ, when all the courageous and learned among 
his disciples had deserted him ; but we never read of her 
entering into any controversies. Dorcas clothed and visited 
the poor ; Mary Magdalene anointed the Saviour’s body ; 
and the sister of Lazarus sat at Jesus’ feet. Such are the 
feminine characters that are held up to our imitation ; and 
I feel assured, that the question which Christ asked of his 
disciples, will be the great test by which our lives will be 
tried — ‘ Lovest thou me V May both of us be enabled, by 
divine grace, to answer as Peter did, 1 Lord, thou knowest 
that I love thee.’ ” 

Miss Barbara Neville looked much dissatisfied, and a little 
contemptuous. “You are but on the first step of the lad- 
der,” she said, as Lady Olivia was about to take leave ; 
“ by the time I have been a few weeks at the cottage, you 
will see your way more clearly.” 

“ Are you not rather afraid to soar above the light and 
strength that are given to us,” replied Lady Olivia, earn- 
estly j “ there are very narrow limits to the capacity of 
man, which should make us extremely apprehensive of pre- 
sumption in our interpretations of Scripture. It has been 
well remarked, that the very difficulties we meet with in 
studying the Bible, are a tacit promise of immortality, since 
God does nothing in vain ; and what the human mind can- 
not comprehend now, is reserved for us in our glorified state 
hereafter. Let us then be satisfied to seek God in sim- 
plicity, and he will be found of us, and bless us, in ourselves 
and in our families.” 

“ You would shut us out at once, then, from all the most 
interesting subjects of speculation,” interrupted Miss Bar- 
bara, indignantly, — “ the origin of evil, necessity and free 
will, the intermediate state of the soul, and many other 
topics of endless discussion, which Miss Bachel Stodart 
says she thinks no one can be safe without fully under- 
standing.” 

“ There are many mysterious depths of doctrine which 
wise and learned men have spent their whole lives in inves- 
tigating,” said Lady Olivia, very seriously. “ On some oc- 
casions, they have received a rich reward, in the most sub- 
lime conceptions of the divine nature and government, and 
in the clearest revelation of much that has been hid from 
mere superficial Christians ; but I consider that few women 
have sufficient metaphysical clearness, fully to comprehend 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


51 


the doctrinal distinctions which are frequently essential, 
when they attempt to go beyond a safe and simple creed, 
the chief articles of which should consist in love to God and 
to our neighbor.” 

“ There I have you !” exclaimed Miss Barbara, with ar- 
gumentative eagerness ; “ you cannot possibly mean to for- 
bid our understandings from being exercised in the study 
of prophecy.” 

“No, certainly,” replied Lady Olivia; “as far as the 
prophecies are clearly shown to have been fulfilled, it is one 
of the most cheering occupations for a devotional spirit, 
to trace the hand of God working out, according to His 
own will, the events which had been so long and so truly 
predicted for ages before. But it requires such a know- 
ledge of biblical language, of the original tongue, and of 
past history, to understand even those parts which are al- 
ready come to pass, that I believe we shall best compre- 
hend what is to be learnt on the subject, by reading the 
works of those authors who have really studied them 
deeply. You know the wren found she could mount as 
high as the eagle, but that was only to be done by getting 
on his back. As for the study of future prophecy, all com- 
ing events are so carefully veiled from our sight, that it 
seems no better than fortune-telling to anticipate them. It 
is revealed to me for certain, that at some period or other 
I shall die ; but if I were to begin guessing the time, place, 
and circumstances, you would probably see me equally mis- 
taken in them all ; and we must never pledge the truth of 
sacred Scripture on any random conjectures of our own. 
It is very important, Barbara, to notice, on the subject of 
ancient prophecy, that it was of two kinds ; the one was 
literal, such as when, the Jews were told that in a certain 
number of years Jerusalem would be destroyed : and this 
they anticipated with certainty and precision : but the rest 
were given in types, which could not possibly be understood 
until the key was given ; and predictions were often far ad- 
vanced towards fulfilment, before being laid open. We have 
our book of prophecy now, but the key is not yet given to us, 
and no one can tell how near or how distant may be the 
complete accomplishment, until, like the Jews, we have 
those mysterious types explained. I am satisfied with the 
words of our Saviour himself on the subject : ‘ This I tell 
you, before it come to pass, that when it is come to pass ye 


52 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


might believe.’ It is not for us to know the times and the 
seasons, which the Father hath put in his own power.” 

Now, Miss Barbara Neville had already calculated to an 
hour, with the assistance of Miss Bach el Stodart, when the 
millennium was to commence, and sighed for the “ narrow 
views” of Lady Olivia, who retired to spend a last evening 
of quiet retirement, in peaceful and happy consciousness, 
that whatever might be the future events of this world, she 
was in the safe and everlasting keeping of Him who orders 
them all, and with whom one day is as a thousand years, 
and a thousand years as one day. 

If the visits of Lady Fitz-Patrick and Lady Howard had 
been rare at Ashgrove formerly, they seemed, from the 
time of Miss Neville’s arrival there, to have entirely ceased ; 
and any stranger who had seen all their letters of apology, 
would have pitied them as the most unfortunate beings 
upon earth, they appeared to live in such a succession of 
disasters ; nervous head-aches, sick children, lame horses, 
drunken coachmen, broken springs, and troublesome vis- 
itors, were all quoted and commented upon as insuperable 
obstacles to their venturing off the stones. Miss Barbara 
very soon collected nearly a quire of these apologetic 
notes, and returned them in a parcel to Lady Howard, re- 
marking, that it was a pity she should waste her ingenuity 
in composing new ones, when she had only to alter the 
dates of these, and they would suit equally well a second 
time. But Lady Olivia, on the contrary, appeared as good- 
naturedly blind as ever to their truant habits, and perse- 
vered in sending her sister-in-law specimens of the rarest 
flowers and earliest vegetables. She always defended 
Lady Howard, and Lady Fitz-Patrick, from the censures 
of Miss Barbara, as if she had been one of the offending 
party herself, — indulgently finding out excuses for them, or 
giving additional weight to those which they had appropri- 
ated to themselves ; but vainly did she sometimes try to 
soften the asperity of their sister’s animadversions, for it 
seemed only to add fuel to the fire. 

“ Cold, heartless, selfish beings!” exclaimed Miss Neville 
indignantly, throwing down the last note that Lady Howard 
had penned ; u I may be thankful never to have known such 
prosperity as they have done, if it would have made me re- 
semble them.” 

u I have a great dislike to invective, Barbara,” said Lady 
Olivia, mildly. “ If we were in real want of society, I am 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


53 


confident your sisters would make a point of being more 
here ; but they know we are both very independent, and 
that therefore they need consult nothing but their own con- 
venience at present, which you see must have been greatly 
sacrificed, had they come when you expected.” 

“ If they stay away till I need their society, it may be 
long enough indeed,” replied Miss Barbara, bridling ; u we 
have very little in common, to make my intercourse with 
them at all profitable ; and with such a circle of highly-gift- 
ed friends, as those whom it is my privilege to enjoy, it 
seems a waste of precious time to associate with any one who 
is not qualified to unite with us.” 

This observation was meant to cut two ways, and, in case 
its edge should not be properly felt, a glance and an em- 
phasis accompanied the words, which conveyed their in- 
tended meaning to her auditor. The fact was, that nothing 
mortified and astonished Miss Barbara Neville half so 
much, as the very sparing advantage w T hich Lady Olivia 
took of her own society, and that of her associates, who 
thought it an unspeakable advancement for any person to 
be admitted into their clique, which was, in general, on as 
exclusive principles as any fashionable preserve in London. 
Each of Miss Barbara’s friends appeared, by her own de- 
scription, to be almost superhuman, in some way or other ; 
and, amidst the pity and indignation with which she 
viewed the follies of all other people, it seemed her greatest 
consolation to exalt the perfections of her friends, and to 
derive additional lustre to her own virtues, from the reflec- 
tion of theirs. Much of the conversation in Miss Neville’s 
society consisted of confidential communications respecting 
the mental state of their nearest relatives ; and each indi- 
vidual came prepared to sacrifice some of her own connex- 
ions at the shrine of spiritual pride. All the party professed 
to hate scandal, and to despise gossip ; but Miss Rachel 
Stodart frequently confessed her anxiety as to the rather 
unsatisfactory frame of her brother’s mind. Mr. Harvey 
in return, imparted to her sympathising attention how 
deeply he was afflicted on account of the discomfort he had 
in associating with his father, who differed most lamentably 
from himself; and Miss Barbara Neville was universally 
communicative — under seal of the strictest secrecy — about 
the incurable worldliness of her sisters, respecting whom she 
was considered to be suffering deep and continual affliction. 
She also hinted mysteriously about the trials she had with 


54 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


Lady Olivia ; but as no specific charge could be brought 
forward, a general feeling of disapprobation and suspicion 
throughout the whole circle, was all that ensued. One 
thing was very evident, that few of Miss Neville’s friends 
had parents or relatives who were fit for them to live with, 
and that much as they were inclined to acknowledge, in 
general terms, the wisdom of their Creator, they were yet 
far from perceiving that the connexions whom he had or- 
dained for them, were well or wisely appointed, and that 
to them their first duties of charity and affection were so 
strictly owing, that nothing could cancel the debt. 

Miss Rachel Stodart had so many superlative duties to 
do, that little time was left at her disposal for common 
ones ; and her brother’s “ very unsatisfactory state of mind,” 
was certainly not likely to be brought round in consequence 
of the discomfort to which he often found himself consigned 
at home, while she attended to’ the wants of any one else in 
preference, as she had a continual tendency to do every 
other person’s duty rather than her own, and felt more 
excitement in conferring her attentions upon strangers 
than in bestowing them where they were a right, in her 
own home. 

It was a frequent subject of self-gratulation with the ex- 
clusives of Miss Neville’s coterie to boast of u their familiar- 
ity with Scripture but as familiarity has been thought to 
lead, on many occasions, towards irreverence, that rule 
would not have been thought, by judicious observers, to 
have found an exception in their case. The names by 
which our Divine Saviour has permitted himself to be 
known to his creatures on earth, were used with such terms 
of intimate endearment as are only allowable in general 
between those friends who live on terms of equality ; and 
the great name of Jehovah, the Creator of the Universe, 
which should be approached with awe and veneration by his 
creatures at all times, and which some good men have felt 
it so solemn to pronounce, that the excellent Robert Boyle 
never mentioned the name of God without preceding it by a 
visible pause, — that holy word was spoken with a degree of 
carelessness, that seemed to Lad}’ Olivia very nearly ap- 
proaching the sin of taking it in vain. The jests which 
were in common circulation at these assemblies,. were an 
equal subject of surprise to Lady Olivia Neville. Anec- 
dotes of clergymen, whatever their nature or tendency might 
be, were invariably received with animated interest by the 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


55 


whole party, — stories were told of those who had blundered 
in the midst of their sermons, of others who had excited the 
risibility of a whole congregation by ill-timed jests ; and of 
many who had tired their audiences, or irritated them by 
the extraordinary length of their addresses. Laughable 
accounts were related also of any ignorance which might be 
betrayed of Scripture, by their former associates, — of the vi- 
olence of their opposition to the gospel, — of the perverted 
use that had been made of the sacred Scriptures, and of the 
various apologies and evasions by which their relatives had 
contrived to excuse themselves from attending the ordinances 
of God. Miss Rachel Stodart described one day how her 
uncle had said, he was never in church but once in his 
life, to be christened, and that he did not propose going 
again until he went to be married ; but instead of ever af- 
fecting the deep regret with which such a sentiment ought 
to have been heard by one who professed to know the value 
of an immortal soul, she brought it forth like an ordinary 
piece of gossip, and a smile passed round the whole circle 
of her auditors when she concluded. Mr. Harvey men- 
tioned, as an amusing circumstance, that in a country church 
in Wales, his old mother had once taken her knitting along 
with her, because it helped to keep her awake, and that she 
was extremely indignant when forbid to continue the indul- 
gence ; and a profusion of anecdotes were thus detailed and 
enjoyed, of a nature which Christians in general would have 
heard with the same mournful commiseration for the souls 
of others, that would have been excited if their bodies had 
been endangered by some mortal disease to which they had 
voluntarily exposed themselves. 

There were some favorite expressions in continual use 
with Miss Neville’s friends, among which the term sweet 
seemed to be literally a word-of-all-work. There were sweet 
books, sweet feelings, sweet moments, and sweet tea ; there 
were people who lived sweetly, and who died sweetly. 

Lady Olivia was equally astonished at the perverted use 
Miss Neville and her associates made of the word “ resigna- 
tion,” for they seemed to bring a thousand misfortunes on 
themselves by their mismanagement or imprudence, and 
then they sighed, and declared their entire submission to 
“ the will of Providence !” One lady, who had utterly neg- 
lected the education of her children, so that they turned 
out ill, expressed her “ resignation another who had over- 
tasked her strength, so that her exertions almost amounted 


56 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


to a gradual suicide, was continually talking of her “ resigna- 
tion ;” and Miss Rachel Stodart, who had quarrelled with 
all her family upon unnecessary punctilios, talked with a 
strange kind of arrogant humility about her “ trials” and 
her “resignation.” None of these persons seemed to con- 
sider that it was their duty, if possible, to avert such afflic- 
tions, for it can only be considered the will of God, when 
we suffer privations which our own utmost efforts could not 
have averted, and then we must endeavor, with pious, en- 
lightened, and good-humored resignation, still to “serve 
God, and be cheerful.” 

Each of these individuals inculcated patience on others, 
and bore the misfortunes of their neighbor with cheerful- 
ness, but they all considered themselves separately, as ob- 
jects of painful sympathy, on account of the exaggerated 
view they took of their own trials. It was even a subject, 
one day, of consideration at Miss Rachel Stodart’s, whethei 
it was right that Christians should wear mourning for each 
other, and there was a sort of emulation in the coterie, who 
should exhibit the greatest example of rejoicing, that their 
friends had been released from such a world of woe, but 
Lady Olivia simply stated her own opinion when called on 
that as Christ had wept for the death of Lazarus, we were 
privileged to indulge the natural feelings to a certain ex- 
tent, and that no one could be considered amiable or Chris- 
tian without them. She remarked, that it was impossible 
to endure our own personal sufferings too patiently or too 
cheerfully, if it were no more than the drawing of a tooth, 
but that when parents and children were able to bear the 
loss of their relatives with extraordinary firmness, it often 
proceeded from a natural hardness and coldness of heart, 
which was not commendable ; and that in the much-admired 
case of Brutus condemning his sons to death, she would 
have thought his patriotism more unquestionable had it in- 
volved the amputation of one of his own limbs. “ If it be- 
came hereafter the etiquette of fashionable life,” said she, 
one day to Miss Neville, “ to take no notice whatever of 
the death of our nearest relatives, I should see little to ad- 
mire in the achievements of those who could actually mix 
in society without exhibiting any visible feeling, and we 
should take care never to attribute to religious principle 
any thing which may proceed from natural defect of sensi- 
bility, for it is too nearly the case already, as was once an- 
ticipated by the old Duke of Argyle, that at last no one 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


57 


would stay at home on account of any death, except the 
corpse. In this respect, as in most things, the good old 
way is still the best, to retire amidst those who suffer with 
ourselves ; to be reserved in communicating with strangers, 
and deeply as we may mourn, to seek most for the sympathy 
and consolation of our never-absent Saviour. The love of 
display and of excitement are so very insidious, that I begin 
to fear there was more knowledge of human nature than I 
was willing to credit in the French author, who maintained, 
that a man would return with elated spirits from the fune- 
ral of his best friend, if he managed it, and performed the 
most conspicuous part himself. 

Lady Olivia Neville felt frequently surprised also at- the 
very prominent place which was given in the conversation 
of Miss Barbara’s friends, to the subject of forgiving their 
enemies. She was not conscious of having any herself, and 
had never found a moment’s effort in pardoning the petty 
acts of malice, unkindness, or ingratitude, such as all are lia- 
ble to suffer from in their intercourse with the world, but 
the continual profession of forgiveness, would in her estima- 
tion have seemed to imply a lurking animosity, and a recol- 
lection of trifling vexations which she thought it her best 
comfort to forget ; and, therefore, within her peaceful breast, 
there lived not the remembrance of a single individual whom 
she would have felt the slightest difficulty in meeting with 
cordial feelings of good-will, while she made a duty of pray- 
ing that if she had enemies, they might be forgiven, and that 
if any real injuries were hereafter inflicted on her, they 
might be readily pardoned. 

A favorite doctrine of Miss Neville and her party was, 
that the human character was capable of being brought to 
perfection upon earth, and that it was possible to live in the 
world without sin. The sin of spiritual pride, that leak in 
the vessel, which sinks so many fair and promising charac- 
ters, seemed in this instance to have completely escaped 
their remembrance, as many believed that they were actually 
living in this state of moral purity, and Miss Rachel Stodart 
declared she had certainly done so for a week. Once or 
twice Lady Olivia attempted to combat this idea by a refer- 
ence to Scripture, showing the corruption of human nature, 
and that even the prophets and apostles are represented as 
distrusting their own hearts, and fearing temptations to the 
very last ; but she was answered with such angry asperity, 
that she allowed herself to be silenced, though she could not 
3 * 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


*>8 

be convinced. “ Alas !” thouglit she, “ if we were endowed, 
for one hour, with such unerring judgment as that with 
which God views all our actions and motives, how would the 
fabric of self-esteem with which we are so prone to clothe 
ourselves, vanish at once, and we should then acknowledge 
with more ardent gratitude and deeper humility, that our 
brightest hope is, to be spared for Christ’s sake, according 
to the multitude of God’s mercies. 

Lady Olivia generally seized the earliest opportunity of 
absenting herself from Miss Neville’s CAT-terie, as Sir Fran- 
cis called it, when any unavoidable circumstance had entan- 
gled her amongst them, though her manner, as long as she 
remained, was full of urbanity and kindness. There were 
some that she certainly distinguished more than others in 
the number, but to Miss Neville’s surprise, it was neither 
Miss Rachel Stodart, nor any of those who were reckoned 
most “ eminent the leaders of the party shook their heads 
at Lady Olivia’s want of “ spiritual discernment and it was 
disapprovingly observed, that she never made the slightest 
approximation to the use of that peculiar idiom in which all 
the initiated among Miss Neville’s circle were accustomed 
to converse about their “ frames,” and to discuss every event 
in “the religious world,” as they designated themselves. 
The manner and disposition of Lady Olivia Neville had al- 
ways been so frank and accessible, that on the shortest ac- 
quaintance people were apt to imagine they knew her per- 
fectly, though the intercourse of a lifetime served only to 
show those whom she admitted to her intimacy, that truly 
to estimate such a character as her’s, would have required 
“ long converse and the scrutiny of years.” Her’s was that 
polish of the manners which proceeds from the polish of the 
mind, and with the kindest feelings towards every one in so- 
ciety, she considered it due to all with whom she had any 
communication, that if it were to last but for half an hour 
of their lives, that half hour should be as pleasing and as 
improving as possible ; not that Lady Olivia was always 
forming resolutions to be agreeable or edifying, but it was 
her habitual desire, as the pilgrim who advances towards his 
home, is not continually renewing his purpose to go thither, 
though every step that he takes carries him forward by natu- 
ral impulse. After a very few transient interviews, the 
friends of Miss Barbara Neville felt themselves competent 
thoroughly to appreciate her, and pronounce their final ver 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


59 


diet, that she was c; a sweet woman,” and it was a thousand 
pities she still remained in darkness. 

“ Barbara !” said Lady Olivia, rising from breakfast on 
the first Sunday after her being settled at the cottage, “ we 
shall be in very good time for church by setting out in half 
an hour, when the bells begin to ring, it is only a ten min- 
utes’ walk.” 

u I do not propose attending church at all , while I am 
settled here,” replied Miss Neville, with a self-satisfied look. 

“ No !” exclaimed Lady Olivia, in an accent of the most 
unfeigned astonishment. 

“ No !” answered Miss Neville, in an oracular tone. “I 
consider that Mr Arnold does not preach as he ought to do.” 

“ My dear Barbara ! I trust you are not serious,” replied 
Lady Olivia, in a tone of earnest remonstrance. “ Bray; 
consider what you are about ! Mr. Arnold is the estab- 
lished clergyman of this parish, deservedly beloved and re- 
spected by all his congregation, to whom he acts the part of 
a faithful and diligent pastor.” 

“ That is your, opinion !” said Miss Neville, dryly. 

u And that of all who know his worth and excellence, as I 
do,” added Lady Olivia. “ He has long known each indi- 
vidual amongst his congregation personally, and far from 
confining his ministrations to the pulpit, he teaches, exhorts, 
and prays with them in their own homes, and watches as 
one who knows he must give an account. Mr. Arnold may 
not be exactly according to your taste as a preacher, but he 
gives us good, plain, wholesome diet, and is himself a most 
sincere and exemplary Christian.” 

u There is always a strong tinge of Arminianism in what 
he calls the practical exhortation at the end of his sermons,” 
replied Miss Neville, shaking her head, u and that will never 
do for me .” 

“ But, Barbara, we have no other church within reach,” 
said Lady Olivia, in a persuasive tone. “ It must surely 
require much stronger objections to justify our forsaking 
the assembling of ourselves together.” 

“ Let me tell you,” replied Miss Neville, in a confidential 
voice, and with a very significant look, “ Mr. Arnold is still 
guile in the dark.” 

“ Do you really mean, then, always to remain at home 
on Sundays ?” inquired Lady Olivia, in a tone of unaffected 
regret. 

“ Not exactly,” answered Miss Neville. u Some of my 


60 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


friends who live in this neighborhood, are to meet on alfrer 
nate weeks at each other’s houses, for conference and prayer, 
when Mr. Harvey has agreed to preside.” 

“ Mr. Iiarvey, the friend of Sir Francis !” exclaimed 
Lady Olivia with astonishment, almost amounting to in 
credulity. 

“Yes!” said Miss Neville, decidedly. “Mr. Harvey, 
who was once a friend of Sir Francis, and of many others 
whom he now abjures. He is, as Miss Rachel Stodart says, 
1 a splendid Christian.’ ” 

“ You cannot surely be in earnest, Barbara,” replied 
Lady Olivia. “ Why ! it is but a short year since he began 
to consider these subjects at all ! What can he teach you 
that will not be still better enforced within the house of 
God, by one who has been a pious and conscientious clergy- 
man of our church for thirty years. Oh, Barbara ! beware 
of false teachers and false prophets ; let us be diffident of 
our own judgment, and careful to ascertain that we have the 
sanction of God’s own word for all we do, and His glory as 
our first object. One thing more you must pardon me for 
hinting, with the most sincere regret, if it should at all hurt 
your feelings. Viewing this subject as I do, it is my ear- 
nest request, that no meeting such as you describe, may ever 
be held in this house.” 

“ Any one will have much to answer for, Olivia, who im- 
pedes Mr. Harvey’s usefulness,” said Miss Neville, in an 
admonitory tone. “ He is a deeply-experimental preacher.” 

“ Rather too experimental in one sense, I should imagine,” 
replied Lady Olivia. “ Does he never remind you, Barbara, 
of that text in Scripture, ‘ clouds they are without water, 
carried about of winds, and trees whose fruit withe reth?’ 
Let us remember the advice of the prophet to ‘ stand upon 
the old ways , and see which is the right and good way, and 
walk therein.’ ” 

“ All you say merely confirms my own opinion, as it shows 
me how little you can appreciate Mr. Harvey ; but I must 
take you to one of ou r r meetings some day, and then you 
will be astonished,” said Miss Neville, in a patronizing tone. 
“ He completely explains the Prophecies from beginning to 
end.” 

“ Do you believe that to be possible ?” asked Lady Olivia. 
u It is more than St. Augustine, or Calvin, or any of the 
sages or saints of antiquity, ever thought themselves com 
petent to do; they respectfully received those truths which 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


61 


were revealed to their understandings, and silently adored 
the mysteries which it was not meant that they should yet 
comprehend. They did not set themselves up as judges in 
these matters, but trusting more to faith than to human 
reason, their respect for divine revelation was not- lessened 
by its being difficult. The Revelations of St. John, are, as 
Saurin has remarked, ‘un des plus mortifians ouvrages, 
pour un esprit avide de connoissance et de lumiere ; mais un 
des plus satisfaisans pour un coeur avide de maximes et de 
preceptes . 5 ” 

“ I know you would forbid the study of prophecy !” ex- 
claimed Miss Barbara, indignantly. 

“ No ! by no means,” replied Lady Olivia, “as I observed 
to you lately. The study of those predictions which are 
already fulfilled, forms as safe and interesting a subject of 
contemplation as any that a Christian mind can engage in ; 
but we should take warning by the Jews on this subject, 
who have so deeply suffered for hasty and literal interpre- 
tations of prophecy, which prevented their recognizing the 
real Messiah when he came, because their minds were so 
filled with false expectations of his temporal splendor, on 
account of their mistaken reading of the Old Testament, 
that they could not recognize the Saviour of the world, 
when He appeared on earth as ‘ a man of sorrows , 5 and as 
one whose ‘ kingdom was not of this world . 5 55 

“ Then I suppose you never read the book of Revelations 
at all,” said Miss Neville. “ How can you justify such an 
omission V 1 

“ On the contrary, I study it continually,” replied Lady 
Olivia. “ There is no book in the whole Oracles of God 
more sublime, or more deeply interesting. Amongst much 
that is symbolical and mysterious, there is also much that 
the most ignorant may understand and meditate on with 
advantage. We there distinctly trace the majesty of Al- 
mighty God, — the power of Jesus Christ, — the formidable 
attempts of Satan against the church, — the terrors of the 
last day, the remorse of the reprobate, and the consummate 
happiness of the saints in heaven. In short, my dear Bar- 
bara, we may feel assured that every prophecy contained in 
that book, will be fulfilled in its appointed time, and that 
then we shall perfectly understand them, but not sooner. 
Meantime we may study the sublime revelations of Script- 
ure now , for saving knowledge, without entering into curious 
speculation. It is astonishing to read in history, of the 


62 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


flagrant blunders into which good and well-meaning people 
have been led, by venturing presumptuously to guess the 
future purposes of God. They seem to have been punished 
for attempting to pluck from the tree of knowledge what 
they were not warranted to seek. You must recollect the 
well-known fact, that in the year 1000, such a universal 
expectation had been disseminated of the world coming to 
an end, that people could hardly be persuaded to sow any 
corn, or to cultivate their fields.” 

“ It has not many more years to last now,” said Miss 
Neville, in an oracular tone. “ The signs of the times, as 
dear Miss Rachel Stodart says, indicate that the end of all 
things is at hand.” 

“ J observe, both in religion and politics, people are always 
apt to fancy that the period of their own existence must be 
the grand crisis of the universe,” said Lady Olivia, smiling. 
u It is impossible to believe that events can go on in an 
every-day manner, while we are in the world, and something 
wonderful must happen to mark the period of our existence, 
which of course appears to us the most important era in 
history. But nature continues its course, while crowds 
successively appear on the stage of life, and vanish silently 
away, and all things shall continue as they were, till the 
number of God’s people is completed, which He alone can 
know. This world will be spared, like the cities of Lot, so 
long as there remain ten righteous men, whose probation it 
may be the will of God to continue here ; and for ourselves, 
we need only bear in mind, that to us the end of all things 
is indeed at hand, for every day brings our short span of ex- 
istence nearer to a close, and there can be no uncertainty as 
to that, nor any danger in our contemplating it too much, or 
thinking it too near.” 

“ Your views are extremely unsatisfactory,” replied Miss 
Neville, in a tone of conscious superiority. u But what can 
be expected from any one who attends such a drone as Mr. 
Arnold ?” 

11 Barbara,” said Lady Olivia, seating herself once more at 
the breakfast table, with a look of anxious kindness, u Let 
me for once speak my whole mind to you on this subject, 
and then I shall implicitly commit our difference of senti- 
ment with fervent prayer, and entire submission, into the 
hands of God, trusting that He will pardon all our errors 
of judgment, and enable us to prostrate our opinions, as 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


63 


well as all our desires, before the sovereignty of His word 
and will.” 

“Well, say on,” replied Miss Neville, impatiently. “ On- 
ly let me premise, that if you expect to persuade me, that it 
would be better to take pot luck with Mr. Arnold, than to 
hear such a man as Mr. Harvey, you will only waste words 
and time upon a vain attempt, as my mind is made up, only 
to attend where I find satisfaction.” 

“ It is a serious step, Barbara, in any one to renounce 
their allegiance to that church, which has been the very 
gate of heaven to thousands who have gone before us, and 
who have thought one of their highest blessings and privi- 
leges was in belonging to it,” said Lady Olivia, in a tone 
of impressive seriousness. “ God has at all times that we 
read of, been worshipped under a settled form in public ; 
the Almighty lays strong injunctions on his people of old 
not to worship him in ‘every place,’ and the Jews, (even 
while they wandered in the wilderness,) were commanded 
to have an established clergy. God appointed these, and 
it was the people’s duty to recognize and follow them. 
When the Temple was built, they were on no pretext to 
forsake it, — and who that reads Solomon’s dedication of 
that house to God, would not feel the importance of prayer 
being offered up within its walls, and that God’s more im- 
mediate presence was to be expected there.” 

“ It is the preacher, and not the place, I am objecting 
to,” said Miss Neville ; “ and you know the sons of Aaron, 
who were appointed to be priests in those days, were con- 
sumed for offering false fire on the altar.” 

“ True,” replied Lady Olivia, “ but that was an immediate 
judgment of God, for the congregation of Jews had no power 
to depose or condemn their priests. We live under a dif- 
ferent dispensation, but still the same superintending Provi- 
dence ; and though the clergy of our church are not appoint- 
ed immediately by the Almighty himself, yet they may be 
considered as lineally descended from the apostles, who 
were selected by Christ, and who ordained their own succes- 
sors. These have appointed others in regular array, from 
the time of our Saviour to the present hour ; and it is a 
beautiful confirmation of our faith, to trace this lengthening 
chain through every successive age, when God had never 
left himself without a witness, according to his own prom- 
ise.” 

“Your view of the subject is very popish,” said Miss 


64 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


Neville dryly ; u we shall hear next, I suppose, of an infalli 
ble church.” 

u No,” replied Lady Olivia, “ hut I consider our parish 
church as the ordinance of God to us, and unless our clergy- 
man teaches contrary to the word of Scripture, we must on 
no account abandon his ministrations. As long as he di- 
rects us to a crucified Saviour, and to the Holy Spirit for 
guidance and comfort, there can be no cause for disunion. 
We read, in the revelations of St. John, that God’s message 
to the seven churches in Asia, was delivered to the minister of 
each, but not directly to the people, — and when the centurion 
was favored with a direct inspiration from God, it did not 
tell him what he was to know, but desired him to send for 
Peter, who would deliver the message of his master. As a 
father should provide for the religious education of his chil- 
dren, so should a government for the instruction of its sub- 
jects. This should teach us to look for edification only from 
legitimate sources, and to expect it most in the path of hum- 
ble and implicit obedience. If there were but one spring 
of water in this neighborhood, you would feel obliged to 
partake of it, though the refreshment might not be equal to 
what you had derived in other places, and at all events it 
would be preferable to any draught which was suspected of 
being noxious or intoxicating.” 

“ Meaning Mr. Harvey’s discourses,” interrupted Miss Ne- 
ville indignantly ; u let me tell you, he would soon preach 
Mr. Arnold 1 bare to the very sexton,’ for such a blaze of 
eloquence is seldom to be heard in a church, and will soon 
make itself known and admired. No, Olivia ! you will never 
make a formalist of me, though I am sorry to think what a 
mere church-goer you are yourself. It is an easy way to se- 
cure the world’s esteem, by conforming to its customs in 
that respect, but such approbation I have no desire to pos- 
sess. Indeed, if every body spoke well of me, as they do of 
you, I should be apt to suspect there was something amiss.” 

“ I apprehend no danger that the world will ever think 
either of us too faultless, Barbara,” replied Lady Olivia, 
smiling ; “ it is seldom so lenient a judge of any one ; and 
at the same time, I would observe that, though Christians 
must make no sacrifices of principle to obtain the good opin- 
ion of others, yet we neither can nor should exterminate that 
desire for the esteem and affection of our friends and neigh- 
bors which enables us to serve them the more, if we exert 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


65 


our influence for good, and which is natural to every one 
who is capable of benevolence or good feeling.” 

“ But, as our whole nature is depraved, whatever is natu* 
ral to us must be bad,” replied Miss Neville ; “it is no de- 
fence of any propensity to say it is natural, — the most im- 
portant characteristic in a Christian is non-conformity to 
the world in all respects.” 

“We must certainly be 4 a peculiar people,’ in many ways, 
and especially in our zeal to do good,” said Lady Olivia; 
“ but I would only wish to be peculiar in what is really es- 
sential, and not in trifles, for which I think many well-mean- 
ing people are too ready to contend, often indulging a natu- 
rally arbitrary temper, or an interfering disposition, under 
the cloak of religious duty ; and perverting the name of de- 
votion for what is merely the enthusiasm of an excited im- 
agination.” 

“ I see what you mean,” replied Miss Neville, rising, “ but 
I shall never sit under any clergyman unless his doctrines 
and preaching are exactly such as I approve.” 

“ Then, Barbara, you will be like a kite without a string, 
blown about -by every wind of doctrine,” said Lady Olivia, 
rising also ; “ but I trust you will still keep in view that an- 
chor of safety to us all, secret prayer and meditation. Try 
to compose your mind in solitude, my dear Barbara, on this 
important subject which we have discussed to-day, avoid all 
excitement for a time, and let me hope you will not be 
pledged to any sect or party till you feel assured of doing 
so on grounds that are perfectly sufficient and scriptural.” 

Miss Neville silently left the room, but Lady Olivia had 
soon many vexatious evidences that nothing was farther from 
the intention of her guest, than to pursue that cautious and 
rational line of conduct which she had suggested. 

One afternoon, having rung for Mrs. Millar at an un- 
usual hour, she obtained no answer till after repeating the 
summons several times, when at length the drawing-room 
door was hurriedly opened, and the housekeeper entered in 
breathless haste, “ I beg your pardon, my lady,” she said, 
“but Miss Neville had not quite finished her exposition 
when your ladyship’s bell rung, and I could not interrupt 
the meeting.” 

“ I merely rung to settle this bill with you,” said Lady 
Olivia ; “ but what did you say about an exposition ?” 

“ I thought your ladyship had known,” replied Mrs. Mil- 
lar, “ that Miss Neville assembles us all every evening in her 


66 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


room to explain the Scriptures, and to teach us Mr. Har 
vey’s new views, which are most surprising, and quite differ 
ent from any thing I had ever known formerly.” 

Lady Olivia looked up from her writing desk with extreme 
astonishment, and paused in silence for some moments ; 
u pray, Millar, how long have you been in the habit of hear- 
ing Miss Neville expound?” she said at length in a tone of 
some anxiety. 

“ Ever since she came here, Madam,” replied Mrs. Millar ; 
“ I hope your ladyship will not be displeased, for we all fan- 
cied you had known it, or not one of the servants would have 
attended.” 

“No, Millar, I was not aware of this,” said Lady Olivia 
“ and am very glad to have been informed of it now, though 
you need not suppose that I blame any one, as it is all in- 
tended for the best. I must, however, observe, that as there 
have been so many wise and good Christians before us, it is 
most probable that any entirely new views of religion must 
be entirely wrong, and that we should beware of being like 
the men of Athens, who were always inquiring for some new 
thing. God originally promised never to leave himself with- 
out a remnant of true believers on the earth, and it is not 
probable that he will reveal now what has been hitherto con- 
cealed. But I shall converse with Miss Neville on this sub- 
ject to-morrow, and in the mean time I think, Millar, that 
as we have family prayers here twice a-day, it may be as 
much as you can do with advantage to attend these, along 
with the more private devotions in which, I hope and be- 
lieve, you regularly engage.” 

u Mrs. Millar respectfully withdrew, and Lady Olivia took 
the earliest opportunity which occurred, of speaking to Miss 
Neville, though she did so with that painfully nervous feel- 
ing which is common to every mind of sensibility when duty 
obliges them to discuss or criticise the conduct of another. 
“ Barbara !” said she, the following morning, in her most con- 
ciliatory tone, “ I understand you have begun a course of 
reading to the servants, which I am sorry you did not men- 
tion, that I might have been present also. It has occasioned 
me much regret, since your arrival here, that you have never 
joined my family circle at prayers, and I shall be happy 
now to make some arrangement by which we may divide the 
duty, and enjoy the pleasure together, if that would be 
agreeable to you.” 

“ Our views are so very different,” said Miss Neville, 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


G7 


1 that your presence would rather restrain the freedom of 
my expositions.” 

“We might at least agree in the importance of studying 
the Scriptures,” replied Lady Olivia, “and I have no ob- 
jection to confine myself to there for the present, if it will 
induce you to join me. Where explanation is desirable, 
you may name the works of any ordained clergyman you 
please, and I shall be happy to coincide in reading them ; 
but, my dear Barbara, I consider myself answerable for any 
instruction which is imparted in this house to my servants, 
and on so serious an occasion as that of being taught from 
the word of God, I cannot allow them to assemble without 
being present myself.” 

Miss Neville’s look was more in anger than in sorrow at 
this declaration, and feeling herself extremely ill-treated, 
she soon after left the room, while Lady Olivia’s counte- 
nance assumed for some moments an unwonted expression 
of chagrin and anxiety, which soon yielded, however, to its 
usual look of calm and peaceful meditation, while these 
words occurred to her thoughts : “ Let not your hearts be 
troubled, ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my 
Father’s house are many mansions, I go to prepare a place 
for you, that where I am there ye may be also.” “ Who 
would willingly forsake such a simple belief as this teaches,” 
thought she, “ for all the learned controversies of the pres- 
ent day ; here are doctrine, precept, and prophecy, all 
comprised in a single page, and level to every capacity ; I 
could meditate forever on this one text, and there are 
hundreds to be found in Scripture of equal signification 
and interest. It holds out a balm for every worldly sor- 
row ; and if I find it sufficient, surely there are few hearts 
upon earth that can need it more.” Lady Olivia glanced 
around her silent and solitary drawing-room, while the 
images of her husband and of her children crowded into 
her thoughts, and the tears flowed insensibly down her 
cheek. “ I believe in God, and therefore I am comforted,” 
thought she, covering her face with her hands and strug- 
gling for composure ; “ I believe in a Saviour, and there- 
fore I feel myself pardoned and pitied. I look to the man- 
sions where those whom I loved will yet dwell with me in 
eternal blessedness, and I feel that my hour of sorrow is 
short and easy. I think upon the path of suffering through 
which Christ went on his mission of mercy, and I long to 
follow Him, and to rejoice in His presence for ever. Oh ! 


68 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


surely these consolatory thoughts are indeed to me the ful- 
filment of that promise of Scripture, 1 My grace is sufficient 
for thee ; my strength is made perfect in thy weakness,’ for 
these words give me that ‘peace’ which Christ bequeathed 
as His last best gift to His disciples, and which is like the 
white stone mentioned in the Revelation, ‘ which no man 
knoweth, saving he that receive th it.’ ” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


69 


CHAPTER V. 


Her maternal care, 

Incessant watches o’er the feeble frame, 

And bids the changing scenes of life prepare 
Our rising nature to a nobler aim. 

Cowper. 

Some weeks after Miss Neville had been domesticated at 
Ashgrove, Lady Olivia was one morning alarmed and 
grieved to receive a letter from Lady Howard, mentioning 
that Lady Fitz-Patrick’s son having recently had a severe 
typhus fever, she had invited Eleanor to take refuge at her 
house, but that, in spite of every precaution, both the girls 
had been seized with that dangerous complaint in its worst 
form, and were considered to be alarmingly ill. 

It was many years since Lady Olivia had left her own 
house, but without a moment’s delay she proceeded to 
Barry’s hotel, accompanied by Miss Neville, and prepared, 
with all a mother’s anxiety and tenderness, to take her 
place by the bedside of the beloved invalids, and to watch 
over them with the same deep solicitude and affectionate care 
which had once been so unavailingly exerted for her own 
children, who were scarcely more dear to her than Eleanor 
and Matilda. 

“ There is a right and a wrong way of doing every thing,” 
as the Frenchman said, who wrote a book on the best way 
of blowing out a candle ; and nothing in the world shows 
greater diversity of character and disposition than attend- 
ing a sick bed. Every affection of the heart is then called 
forth, and must be accompanied with fortitude and pru- 
dence to impart that comfort and support to the sufferer, 
which we often require at the same time ourselves. Few 
are capable of entirely neglecting those who need their 
care ; but, on the other hand, fewer still can give all the 
consolation that might be expected on such an occasion, be- 
cause there is a perpetual danger of officiousness, and still 
more, of being ostentatious in conferring attention on those 
whose situation obliges them to be under incessant obliga- 


70 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


tions. A mind of true delicacy will carefully screen from 
observation all the labor and care which her attendance oc- 
casions, while the fretfulness of pain and dependence may 
be a continual trial to the temper, in causing peevishness 
and misrepresentations from those whom it is the first 
object of solicitude to relieve and comfort. No one ever at- 
tained more perfectly than Lady Olivia Neville that total 
forgetfulness of self which is the first essential in an attend- 
ant on sickness. She seemed to have no thought on earth 
beyond the sick room, and to see no object in it but the two 
beloved invalids. If they were feverish, she soothed them ; 
if they slept, she seemed scarcely to have life or motion 
herself ; if their spirits were depressed, she whispered words 
of encouragement and comfort ; and when their sufferings 
were beyond the reach of her alleviation, they saw by her 
looks of silent distress how deep was her sympathy ; and 
often a short, but fervent prayer, breathed from her lips, 
brought the light of another world to shine upon the dark- 
ness of the present. 

To Eleanor and Matilda, Lady Olivia’s entrance seemed 
always the harbinger of peace and consolation. Their first 
thought on awakening was to ascertain if she were near ; 
and they closed their eyes to sleep with an additional feel- 
ing of tranquillity, when they saw her watching with gentle, 
but unobtrusive care. She added to their comfort by a 
thousand contrivances which occurred to no one else, for 
truly those who have watched much over the sufferings of 
a sick bed, become fearfully ingenious in anticipating and 
relieving its wants. 

Eleanor and Matilda scarcely needed to express their 
wishes, for they had only to lay still, like the Prince in the 
Arabian Nights, who was waited on by unseen hands, and 
every thing was done by an invisible agency. The invalids 
could often only guess to whom they were indebted for what 
afforded them pleasure or relief, but they never found them- 
selves mistaken in attributing every instance of considerate 
kindness or watchful care to Lady Olivia Neville. 

It was far otherwise with respect to their aunt Barbara, 
the very sound of whose footstep ascending the stair made 
the patients shrink with anticipations of future endurance ; 
and when she entered the room, it was with an air of con- 
scious merit that seemed to tell what an act of duty and of 
kindness she was about to perform in visiting the sick, and 
be braving the infection of a fever, the danger and contagi 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


71 


ousness of which became her favourite theme. Whatevei 
might be the state of their nerves, or of their pulses, she 
made a point of asking the invalids a train of questions, and 
cross-examining them. “ If they felt better ? If they felt 
worse ? If they had slept well 1 If they had taken their 
medicine ? If the doctor had been there lately % If then 
heads ached ? and whether they felt prepared to die should 
their illness be fatal,” which she frequently hinted was more 
than probable. Miss Neville generally ended her visit with 
a selection of trite and common-place remarks on the ne- 
cessity of patient submission to suffering, on the shortness 
of life, and on the certainty of death. 

If Dr. Jones came in, Miss Barbara scarcely let him 
speak to his patients, she had so much to say. She told 
him how they were ; descanted on her own excessive atten- 
tion and skill, suggested various remedies that she wonder- 
ed he had not prescribed, and asked him whether it was 
probable they would recover or not. Whatever position 
Eleanor or Matilda might be lying in when she entered, 
Miss Neville invariably thought she could make them more 
easy, and insisted on their altering it. “ My dear ! how 
can you stay in bed with your head so high ? let me remove 
one of those pillows,” said she one day to Eleanor; “and 
pray turn your back to the light, which would be much more 
comfortable.” 

u Aunt Barbara ! do let me be miserable in my own way,” 
replied Eleanor impatiently ; “ it is not the sun that is an- 
noying me most at present, but something much more 
teasing and unwelcome.” 

The invalids often pretended to be asleep when Miss 
Neville entered the room, in hopes of being allowed to re- 
pose in peace ; but this expedient scarcely at all availed 
them, as she generally peered into their faces to ascertain if 
they really were so, and seemed willing to awaken them in 
order to inquire how they slept. 

Miss Barbara Neville was quite an adept at that peculiar 
sort of whisper, which seems the established mode of com- 
municating in sick rooms. It is just low enough to excite 
attention, and loud enough not to baulk it. There is a mys- 
terious and impressive earnestness in it which commands 
the most intense curiosity ; and the invalid who is supposed 
to be too weak, or too drowsy for listening to any thing, is 
generally kept in a feverish state of interest and anxiety by 
its continual sound near his bed, and learns by means of it 


72 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


all that ought to be most cautiously concealed. In vain did 
Lady Olivia try to discourage Miss Neville’s loquacity ; for 
the invalids, either sleeping or waking, only experienced a 
change from the sound of her voice at its full pitch, or when 
reduced to that irritating whisper, which they dreaded more 
than the drone of a bagpipe at their ears. 

“ I see poor Matilda is asleep at last,” whispered Miss 
Neville across the bed, to Lady Olivia, who was quietly 
seated at her work on the opposite side ; “ she has had a 
dreadful day of it! Indeed, I am sorry to mention, Dr. 
Jones thinks it a great chance if she can survive this night 
unless her pulse falls.” 

Lady Olivia made signs to stop Miss Neville’s impru- 
dence, and clasped her hands with an imploring look, to 
show how earnestly she begged her silence ; but it was all 
in vain. 

“ She is quite sound asleep, I assure you,” continued the 
whisperer ; “ and I am very thankful to see it, for that is 
her only chance of coming through.” 

“ I am not asleep, aunt Barbara !” said Matilda, faintly ; 
u I hear all you say.” 

u My dear girl ! how sorry I am ! Did I disturb you ! 
Have you not slept at all ? Do turn yourself round, and 
try to be composed.” 

A gentle hand was laid upon Barbara’s arm, and Lady 
Olivia led her towards the door. “ It is, as you know, a 
case of life and death this night, and quietness is our only 
hope,” said Lady Olivia, impressively, as soon as they were 
beyond the possibility of being heard ; “ excuse me, Bar- 
bara, but for your own sake, and that of all who love the 
dear girl, I cannot allow you to remain another moment in 
that room.” 

Lady Olivia hastened instantly back, and found Matilda 
in a state of alarming agitation. Her whole frame was 
trembling, and she entreated her aunt not to stir out of 
sight for a moment, but to talk to and comfort her, and to 
try if she could lead her mind into a state of composure and 
peace, as the idea of death, so nearly impending, had never 
before been impressed on her thoughts. 

“ You often told me formerly, my dear aunt, when I 
talked presumptuously of being ready to die, that death, at 
a distance, or near, was as different to our apprehensions, as 
if we saw a lion painted on a sign, or met him roaring in the 
forest, and 1 now feel painfully sensible how true it is.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


73 


Lady Olivia laid herself down on the bed beside Matilda, 
and affectionately folded her in her arms. “ My dearest 
child,” she said, in an under tone, “you and I have often 
talked of death, and thought of it formerly ; and we have 
prayed together that God would be with you in the hour 
of danger and of suffering. These prayers will all be re- 
membered now when you cannot speak the language of 
supplication yourself. The Holy Spirit of God will inter- 
cede for you, and the Saviour is ready to bless and to pre- 
serve you. Place your whole trust in his all-sufficient mercy, 
and be thankful that it is his merit and not your own, that 
you now depend upon. Try to sleep, my beloved Matilda, 
and be assured I shall remain here and pray for you, till you 
awaken again.” 

Nature had been so nearly exhausted by fever and rest- 
lessness, that all the soothing cares of Lady Olivia were for 
some time unavailing ; but still Matilda felt encouraged and 
consoled by her presence ; and a calm insensibly stole over 
her spirits when she gazed on the countenance of her aunt, 
which was so peaceful and so sanctified, that all human 
passion seemed utterly extinct there, except when she turned 
a look of fond and anxious solicitude on the object of her 
affectionate care. Gradually the perfect stillness of all 
around, and the growing composure of her inward thoughts, 
had the desired effect, and Matilda at length dropped into a 
quiet and refreshing slumber, which brought the crisis of 
her fever to a favorable termination. It was not without 
tears of joy and thankfulness that Lady Olivia learnt from 
Dr. Jones, on the following morning, that both the young 
ladies might be considered out of danger, and that in a few 
weeks he was confident they would be perfectly restored. 

Never did Matilda Howard afterwards forget that hour, 
when the gulf of eternity seemed suddenly to have opened 
beneath her feet, and when all her terrors had been soothed 
and allayed by the message of gospel mercy. The more 
she meditated on it, during the time of her convalescence, 
the more she saw its adaptation to her wants, and the more 
truly she loved its Author. Many days were afterwards 
spent, in deep and earnest conversation with Lady Olivia, 
during which her mind seemed visibly to expand, and she 
received a degree of pleasure and interest from these inter- 
views, of which her whole future life showed the salutary 
impression. 

Lady Fitz-Patrick professed to be so occupied with her 
4 


74 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


son at home, that she could seldom come to see Eleanor 
and she indulged a most unconquerable terror of infection 
also, which combined with other things to render her visits 
both few and hurried. The apartment was always carefully 
fumigated before she entered : her pocket handkerchief was 
steeped in Eau de Cologne for the occasion ; her gloves were 
changed after she left the room, and she kept cloves in her 
mouth the whole time she spoke. Sometimes she did not 
even venture to enter, but thrust her head in at the door, 
and held a dialogue from thence to ascertain how her 
daughter felt. 

“ I would come in with pleasure, my love, but it could be 
of no use to you,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick one day ; u and 
being so lately from the fresh air, would make me very liable 
to catch the fever. I hope you have every thing necessary, 
and that you will soon be quite well.” 

Lady Fitz-Patrick’s head was then hastily withdrawn 
before there was time for any answer, and she returned 
home to tell Sir Richard, that Eleanor was really wonder- 
fully better, and she could see no good reason for their 
sending an apology to Lady Amelia Douglas. 

Lady Howard was as clever in the science of physic as 
in every thing else. She had studied profoundly in Buchan’s 
Domestic Medicine. She knew the Code of Health and 
Longevity by heart, and had read “ Every Man his own 
Doctor,” several times over. Her well-stocked medicine 
chest was of most portentous dimensions ; and she had 
even invented a pill of her own, which was an infallible 
remedy for every sort of incurable complaint. She quacked 
herself, by the newspapers continually, and sent for a trial 
of almost every new discovery in physic which was adver- 
tised, declaring she or some of her friends had undoubted 
symptoms of the disease it professed to cure. Lady How- 
ard’s children also enjoyed the benefit of her prescriptions. 
Many a Nabob whose liver has been fried in India for 
twenty years, never swallowed more calomel than Matilda. 
If she looked flushed with exercise and animation, it was 
administered to cool her ; if she felt languid with fatigue, 
she must require it for being bilious ; and if she were unde- 
niably well, still there was nothing more effectual as a pre- 
ventive of disorders than calomel. On the occasion of 
Matilda’s severe illness, Lady Howard was determined to 
shine She had a theory of her own for fevers, and was 
with the greatest difficulty prevented by Dr. Jones from 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


75 


following it out in her treatment of the invalid, and he felt 
often nearly in a fever himself with the trouble she occa- 
sioned him. Every draught that was sent to the house she 
made a point of tasting, in order to ascertain its ingredients t 
and generally threw out a rough guess when next he called, 
that she might impress him with a due sense of her dis- 
crimination. 

“ I rather suspect, Dr. Jones,” said she, one day, “that 
there was laudanum in the composing draught you sent for 
Matilda last night, which is a thing I never allow my chil- 
dren to take ; so we merely administered the half of it, 
which was fortunate, since I rather think it did her harm. 
Do you never prescribe Valerian instead?” 

Another day she said, “ Would there be any risk, Dr. 
Jones, in doubling the dose you prescribed last night? it 
did some good, and I conceive the contents are merely 
antimonial wine and hartshorn, disguised in a little rose 
water.” 

“ Madam,” cried Dr. Jones in a paroxysm of vexation, 
u either you or I must give up practice in this house, for 
Miss Howard could not survive a week of your treatment.” 

“ Olivia,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, one day when she saw 
her leaving the sick room, “ how I envy your nerves ! they 
would be fit for a sick nurse at the infirmary. You appear 
to have no fear of infection, so it is quite safe for you to 
brave it ; but as I live in constant terror, you know I am 
much more liable to be seized with the complaint than any 
one else. You have always been, in every circumstance of 
life, a strong-minded person, who could bear any thing. If 
you could form any idea of my acute sensibility on all occa- 
sions, you would really pity me ; but it is what, I should 
think, you can scarcely even imagine.” 

Lady Olivia colored deeply at this implied accusation of 
insensibility, and turned silently away, for her heart was 
too full to speak. “ Alas !” thought she, “ the heart know- 
eth its own bitterness ; how many fervent prayers, and how 
many solitary struggles has it cost me to attain that out- 
ward calmness which shrouds from her view the anguish 
and sorrow that have long been buried in my breast, and 
which must last ; till mourn’d and mourner lie together in 
repose.’ ” 

“ You really have quite a genius for a sick room,” said 
Lady Howard, drawing in her chair ; “ and I often think, 
Olivia, how unlucky it is. that you never tried to pick up a 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


76 

little knowledge of medicine, it might render you still more 
useful in attending upon invalids, which you seem to be so 
fond of doing.” 

“We should scarcely agree quite so well as we do now, 
Maria, if I took out a diploma,” replied Lady Olivia, sitting 
down beside her, “ I believe Esculapius himself would be 
puzzled in your well-stored laboratory, and I certainly am 
completely so ; however, in medicine, still more than in any 
thing else, it is most true that a little learning is a dangerous 
thing ; and it is too late for me now to acquire all the skill 
and practice that you have.” 

“You are pleased to be satirical,” said Lady Howard, 
laughing, u and, as a punishment, I prescribe for you to read 
carefully through this invaluable work upon diet, entitled 
‘ A Shield from Sickness and Death . 5 ” 

u Thank you,” answered Lady Olivia ; “ but I never feel 
in such danger of becoming fanciful about my health as 
when I begin to study the subject, and the most incurable 
complaints of all are those of the imagination. I once read 
the description of a polypus in the nose till I actually felt 
as if it were beginning to grow in my own.” 

“ I perceive that your chief deficiency as a sick nurse, 
Olivia, is rather a want of activity,” said Miss Neville, in a 
tone of perfect self-complacency. “ I thought, moreover, 
that you lost several opportunities, when the girls were at 
the-ir worst, of saying something striking and impressive, 
which they would have remembered the longest day they 
had to live . 55 

“ Do you think so, Barbara,” answered Lady Olivia, in a 
tone of reflection ; “ I can acquit myself of any intentional 
omission, but.. we have such a solemn responsibility to pro- 
mote the glory of God and the good of those we love, that I 
never can feel satisfied it has been fully performed, and am 
quite ready to coincide with you that more might have been 
done, though I trust our endeavors, such as they were, will 
have the blessing of God, which can alone render them 
effectual.” 

u To do you justice, my dear Olivia, I see no one who has 
such a varied and interesting method of talking to children 
as yourself,” interrupted Lady Howard, affecting not to 
notice that Miss Neville was going to speak, who had risen 
to leave the room, u you never teaze them when they are un- 
fit for it, like some people ; and when you do give religious 
advice, it is administered to them as their medicines are. so 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


77 


wrapped up in sweet-meats, that one can scarcely pity them 
for being obliged to swallow it.” 

“You know, Maria, afflictions have been called present 
medicine for everlasting health, and I was anxious to take 
advantage of their illness, to impress, both upon Eleanor 
and Matilda, the importance of being freed from that moral 
disease of the soul which each of us is born with ; — which 
causes all the sufferings they ever see or feel ; — which brings 
death to our families and to ourselves, and which must send 
us to everlasting destruction, if we do not apply to the great 
Physician, who is able and willing to cure us.” 

“ Well, Olivia, I have positively thought, very often, after 
hearing you talk to Eleanor, that if by tossing all my novels 
and visiting cards out of the window, or by shutting myself 
up in a dungeon, or cutting off my right hand, or any other 
desperate effort you please, I could all at once become as 
pious and amiable as you are, I should almost be tempted to 
try it,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, sighing, while she threw 
herself full length on a sofa ; “ but as for settling the whirl 
of my mind into a calm, and all at once sitting down to be 
‘ good,’ that is quite out of the question.” 

“ If you expect to find strength in yourself to do so, it 
certainly is impossible,” said Lady Olivia, earnestly ; “ the 
man has never yet been born who could conquer the entice- 
ments of this world by his own unassisted efforts. Sin, in 
some shape or other, governs every human being, till the 
grace of God gives us a victory which we never could ac- 
complish ourselves.” 

“ I cannot but think, however, in spite of all you have 
ever said on the subject, Olivia,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, 
“ that if we only do our best, that is all which can possibly 
be expected.” 

“ And yet, do you recollect the case of Cornelius in the 
Bible,” replied Lady Olivia, “a devout man, who feared 
God and gave alms to the poor, but a vision was sent to 
him, in order that be might be made a Christian ; he seems 
to have been doing his best as far as nature could enable 
him, but he still required the light, and grace, and comfort 
of the Gospel.” 

“ I know no one whose life is visibly under its influence, 
except your own, Olivia,” said Lady Howard, “ but with 
you every action seems dictated by religion, which is as 
continually prevalent in all you do, as we observe vanity 
and selfishness and ambition to pervade every thought, word, 


78 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


and deed of worldly men. Do not contradict me, Olivia , 
I know all you are going to say, but let me for once speak 
out my whole mind while I am in the humor of being so 
candid. You often remind me of that image of virtue 
which the poet describes as being placed continually before 
the eyes of condemned souls in purgatory, to show them 
the glory that they have lost ; these are represented as 
turning aside continually, but they cannot close their eyes 
against its dazzling brightness ; and let me acknowledge 
what I never confessed before and never would say to a 
living person but yourself, that the graces of your own 
character sometimes force themselves in a similar way on 
my thoughts, till I feel unable to shut my eyes to the con- 
trast there is between us.” 

“ What a strong figure of speech, Maria !” said Lady 
Olivia calmly. “It is worth while to be your friend, as 
that always blinds you at once ; but recollect we are warned 
not to measure ourselves by ourselves, nor compare our- 
selves with ourselves. You are aware how much sorrow I 
have had to estrange me from loving this world too well ; 
and that so many of its dearest ties have been broken, that 
it would be extraordinary if I found any difficulty in with- 
drawing from its scenes. But, Maria, we may be quite in- 
different to this world, and yet be very much unprepared 
for a better. If you knew the snares into which I am 
every hour in danger of falling, you would see that while 
life remains, sin and temptation continue to assail us. 
They find a ready access to the heart of even the most de- 
voted Christian, though by the grace of God they may be 
more and more subdued.” 

“ Then, my dear Olivia, since you are in danger of falling, 
what is to become of me !” exclaimed Lady Fitz-Patrick ; 
“ if an eagle cannot rise to a sufficient elevation from the 
earth, what can a mere butterfly do?” 

“ The same almighty hand forms and sustains us all,” re- 
plied Lady Olivia impressively. “ The shepherds who saw 
that star in the heavens which was to guide their steps to a 
promised Saviour, lighted no lamps of their own to help them 
by the way, and the Bible is sent to be our sure and suffi- 
cient guide to Christ. If we steadily fix our eyes on the 
light that is there revealed to us, our path will become plain 
and easy. We shall then see the heavens, as it were, 
opened, and the Spirit of God descending into our hearts to 
strengthen, to purify, and to enlighten them. It will be 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


IQ 

like the morning light, becoming brighter and brighter unto 
the perfect day ; and though we shall have to mourn fre- 
quently and deeply that we have fallen into sin, we shall 
still have the means afforded us of being preserved from 
utter condemnation/’ 

“ That is a distinction without a difference/’ said Lady 
Howard, “ all sin is said to be utterly condemned.” 

“Yes!” replied Lady Olivia, “but yet let us remember, 
that though God hates all sin, he loves the souls of men, and 
while we were yet sinners He gave His only Son to bear the 
punishment of our transgressions. An atonement must be 
made for every offence we commit, but our Saviour’s is suf- 
ficient, if we can place our whole reliance in him, though, at 
the same time, a true Christian’s conduct will exemplify as 
much purity as if his salvation depended on his own actions. 
I look, not to myself, but to Jesus Christ, and nothing can 
shake my belief in Ilis ability and willingness to save me. 
If my guilt appear Ouious in my own eyes, I know that it 
is not in my nature to hate sin, and that my abhorrence of 
it is, in itself, an evidence that the grace of God has begun 
that good work in me, which I now humbly trust that He 
will accomplish.” 

“ My good friend, to hear this facon de parlor , one would 
suppose you had committed some unheard-of crimes,” said 
Lady Fitz-Patrick, “and I really do not believe you are 
any wirse than ourselves — now, what temptations have we? 
I never broke one of the commandments in my whole life.” 

“ You think so, from not having fully considered all they 
require,” answered Lady Olivia ; “ unless people actually 
worship images, or commit murder, they are apt to fancy 
that by keeping from extremes of sin they are not infringing 
the law at all.” 

“ Let me be your father-confessor then, Olivia, and tell 
me a catalogue of your greatest offences,” said Lady Fitz- 
Patrick, “ I assure you, the worse they are, the better I 
shall like you, because the chief objection I have to you is, 
for being too faultless.” 

“ It is easy to appear so before our fellow-creatures,” 
replied Lady Olivia, “ and if God were such an one as our- 
selves, who only saw outward actions, it might be possible 
to deceive Him also ; but He sees our motives likewise. 
These are often hid from ourselves, so it is no wonder if they 
be concealed from the knowledge of all but God. If we 
seek for honor to ourselves rather than to Him, it is yield- 


80 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


ing to the temptation which Satan held out to Adam, and 
desiring to he 1 as gods’ — if our prayers are merely to es- 
cape from the punishment rather than from the power of 
sin, then He sees in us the fear of a slave rather than the 
love of a child ; and if we give way to spiritual pride, 
which is generally the final temptation that assails the 
Christian, it is like the crime of Moses and Aaron, taking 
merit to ourselves for what is the work of God.” 

“On the score of spiritual pride I may acquit you, Olivia, 
for never in my whole life did you say to me, by word or 
look, Stand by, for I am holier than thou,” observed Lady 
Howard warmly, “ and it is that humility on your part 
which makes me so ready to see and acknowledge the dif- 
ference. It is impossible, my dear Olivia, to look into the 
mirror of such a mind as yours, and not to feel, as I have 
sometimes done, that, after all, you have chosen the better 
part, not merely for a future world, but even now . 11 

“ The last time we had a conversation of this kind,” said 
Lady Fitz-Patrick, “ if you will believe me, I positively 
sent an apology to several balls during the following week, 
was denied to morning visitors, and read through a whole 
volume of tracts ; but it did not succeed, for no tongue can 
tell the weariness I felt, surrounded with sermons, and 
every day like a Sunday.” 

“ I can easily believe it,” replied Lady Olivia, unable to 
repress a smile ; “ only imagine a young lady desired to 
spend her whole day with a harp and pianoforte which she 
had never been taught to use, and how little enjoyment she 
could have in them ; but Eleanor, who is accustomed to 
create the most delightful harmony for hours together, and 
never to tire, how different she would feel if she were shut 
up with nothing else for any length of time. It is the 
same with all the enjoyments of religion, — to those who do 
not understand them they are an intolerable restraint ; but 
to those who practice the exercises of devotion, how sub- 
lime are the emotions — how unfailing the resources they 
supply. 

“No doubt you find it so,” answered Lady Fitz-Patrick, 
suppressing a yawn, “ but I have not energy or resolution 
now to change my habits of living and of thinking.” 

“ Still the old mistake, Sophia, trusting to yourself in- 
stead of to God,” said Lady Olivia earnestly. “ Oh, if ycu 
would but pray for that change of heart which makes every 
sacrifice easy, and every duty delightful, then you would 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


81 


see no cause to despair. The door of religion is open to all, 
and yet they wish to climb in at the window. Without as- 
sistance you might read sermons night and day, but it would 
be as useless a penance as that of the Egyptian fanatic who 
meditated his whole life on the summit of a pillar. It is 
not the mere service of the body, — it is not the mere labor 
of the mind that will please God, but it is the devotion of 
the whole heart, — it is that sincere love and confidence 
which He inspires into the heart of all who desire to feel it, 
and which must be accompanied with humility to acknowl- 
edge that in ourselves we cannot so much as think a good 
thought.” 

u Ah, there is another difficulty,” cried Lady Fitz-Pat- 
rick ; “ I take myself regularly to church, and read the Bi- 
ble generally once a-day ; but as for thinking about either 
of them with that pleasure which you have sometimes de- 
scribed, that is quite out of the question. I once even began 
to copy out some parts of the Bible in my own hand- 
writing, in hopes to acquire a greater knowledge of it, but — 
in short — I never was born to be religious.” 

“ We are all born with an aversion to it,” replied Lady 
Olivia, “ and it is the peculiar mercy of God to each indi 
vidual who is happy enough to become otherwise. How de 
lighted it has made me this eveniug to hear you express a 
wish to increase in the knowledge and love of God, for no 
Heart can conceive how fervent and how frequent my prayers 
are for you both My chief object on earth now is, the hap- 
piness of yourselves and of your dear children ; and the 
only remaining wish for which I desire to live is, that I may 
yet see you all safely rooted and built up in Christ. Each 
of us is building for eternity, and the storm and the tem- 
pest must soon arise which are to try whether we have built 
on a foundation of rock or of sand. Let us often anticipate 
that awful hour, — that day when we shall either call upon 
the mountains to fall on us, and the hills to cover us from 
the wrath of an eternal God, — or else arise with songs of 
joy and rejoicing to tune our voices for an anthem of ever- 
lasting praise and thanksgiving. My dear sisters, if I 
transgress on your patience to-night, excuse me, as we are 
so soon to part ; and before I return home, let me tell you 
how constantly you are in my thoughts, and how often when 
my heart has been but too cold and inanimate in commend- 
ing my own soul to the care of our Almighty Father, it has 
been awakened to new life and energy when I thought of 
4 * 


82 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


you and your children, and the tears have flowed from my 
eyes while I implored for you the same blessings that I had 
asked for myself.” 

“ You are only too kind, Olivia,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, 
in a tone of some feeling ; “ and I will say this, if any good 
ever comes of me, your gentle forbearance has done more 
for me than if you had rung the church bells in my ears 
every day, as Barbara does. My heart always opens at once 
to you, and shuts up instantly at the sight of her.. She has 
such a disapproving look, as Sir Francis calls it, and cavils 
so constantly at every thing I say or do, that it is impossible 
to feel any confidence or comfort when she is present.” 

u What is it that makes so wide a difference between Bar- 
bara and you, Olivia, when you both profess the same 
tiling ?” inquired Lady Howard ; “ she seems always to be 
weighing her own merits against mine, as if we were in a 
pair of scales, and that the lower she depressed my conduct 
the higher she elevated her own.” 

“ It requires long experience of our own deceitful hearts 
to keep us humble,” replied Lady Olivia, u and persons who 
are converted late in life generally make themselves more 
conspicuous than those with whom the dawn has been gradual. 
It is like a blind man receiving his sight in the meridian 
day, they are so apt to be dazzled by the glory that is re- 
vealed to them.” 

a I am quite of that opinion,” exclaimed Lady Howard, 
“ Barbara is, as you say, a mere owl in the sunshine.” 

“ My dear Maria !” interrupted Lady Olivia, in a tone of 
remonstrance. 

u Yes,” continued Lady Howard, speaking rapidly, “ she 
never had any thing generous or comprehensive in her mind 
since I knew her. Barbara’s very virtues have something 
diminutive and contemptible about them ; she never c rives 
an oak, 7 but she spends her life in 1 picking up pins, and 
carving heads upon cherry stones. 7 Sir Francis declares it 
is his serious belief that Barbara is expecting her memoirs 
to be written and published when she dies, and I know she 
keeps copies of her letters on purpose for the biographer. 
She is certainly one of the most voluminous controversial 
writers of her day, for I never see one of her weekly de- 
spatches to Miss Rachel Stodart that is not longer than any 
newspaper, and will look splendid in the printing-press. She 
actually lives as much for fame as Frederick the Great did, — 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


83 


and as small vessels are more easily filled than large ones 
her mind is as full of vanity in her small way as — ” 

“ Pray, stop. Maria ! let me say one word,” cried Lady 
Olivia: u I was reading an author lately, who observed, that, 
if every individual knew exa.ctly what is said of him behind 
his back, no two people in the world would be on speaking 
terms. It was a painful view of human nature, and not, I 
trust, at all warrantable, — but surely the friendship of sisters 
at least, ought to be such as might survive that ordeal.” 

“ Your’s would, I know,” replied Lady Howard, taking 
her affectionately by the hand, as she rose to leave the 
room ; 11 and in return for the lenient view you take of all 
my own failings, Olivia, I promise henceforth to wink as 
hard as I can at Barbara’s oddities. In short, I shall be ‘ to 
all her faults a little blind,’ or completely so, if you prefer it. 
Adieu for the present, — I knew that our conversation would 
come to an untimely end whenever my sister appeared on 
the tapis, for I cannot resist giving a critique upon her, and 
you never can bear to hear it. You have the worst opinion 
in the world of human nature in general, Olivia, but the best 
opinion in the world of every individual in the creation ; so 
I must ascertain some day how such a contradiction can be 
reconciled.” 


84 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


CHAPTER 71. 


In her thy well-appointed proxy see, 

Armed for a work too difficult for thee ; 

Prepared by taste, by learning, and true worth, 

To form thy child, to strike her genius forth ; 

Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye to prove 
The force of discipline, when backed by love, 

To double all thy pleasure in thy child, 

Her mind informed, her morals undefiled. 

Cowper. 

The evening before Lady Olivia and Miss Neville pro- 
posed returning to the cottage, Sir Richard and Lady Fitz- 
Patrick joined Lady Howard’s family circle at tea, when the 
whole party seemed to vie with each other, who should con- 
tribute most to the pleasure and animation of the conversa- 
tion. Sir Francis began with telling all his best anecdotes 
about massacring game, and Sir Richard exchanged some 
valuable information about the most scientific mode of dress- 
ing it. Lady Olivia endeavored to look as if she was inter- 
ested — and Miss Barbara tried to show she was not. At 
length Lady Fitz-Patrick and Lady Howard got complete 
possession of the field, by starting the only subject in which 
they had a common interest, and which was perfectly inex- 
haustible between them when once it was begun. A volume 
could not have contained all the anecdotes they had to 
exchange, showing the torment they had both endured from 
Abigails and governesses, most of whom were as usual in the 
act of departing. 

44 It would save one half the trouble, Maria, if you and 
Lady Fitz-Patrick would effect a monthly exchange of all 
the 4 treasures ’ that I continually hear you are expecting 
home,” said Sir Francis, 44 for as Hr Johnson, or some of 
your people used to say, 4 nothing is lost that a friend 
gets.’ ” 

44 It would be the shortest plan to keep none at all, as I 
do,” said Miss Neville sharply; 44 1 would not become so 
helpless as Maria, to be a duchess.” 

44 My reason for parting with Phillips at present is, that 
her officiousness is quite unbearable,” continued Lady How 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


85 


ard, without noticing these unwelcome remarks, “ If you 
will believe me, she yesterday washed my Mechlin lace cap 
without leave, though I had intended sending it to be done 
at Madam Debris’, whom I am so anxious to patronize.” 

“ Intolerable !” exclaimed Lady Fitz-Patrick, drawing her 
chair still nearer Lady Howard’s, while Miss Neville took 
up a book to show how tired she was of the subject ; “ my 
maid Darrell has become completely spoilt. The other day 
when I rung several times in vain, she came up at last, 
saying, that as the housekeeper had not made the move after 
dinner when I first summoned her, it was impossible to 
stir ! I am told too, that she drinks beer, and eats with her 
knife.” 

“ Pray, Lady Olivia, if we may ask, how long has Millar 
served you?” asked Sir Francis slyly. “We change our 
attendants like our dresses, at all the four seasons reg- 
ularly.” 

“ I have had Millar for twenty-five years,” replied Lady 
Olivia, “and I hope she will remain with me always.” 

“ How fortunate you are !” exclaimed Lady Fitz-Patrick 
with a sigh ; “ indeed I have always intended to beg, that if 
she ever leaves you, I may have the first offer of Millar, 
there cannot be a greater treasure.” 

“ No, no, Sophia,” replied Lady Olivia laughing, “you 
would not keep her a month ; Millar has many faults and 
deficiencies, but I have made up my mind that every one 
must have some. It is strange that the only persons in 
whom we expect to find perfection are our servants.” 

“Yes!” interrupted Sir Francis. “We allow for the 
faults of our friends ; we palliate our own ; but an unfortu- 
nate Abigail must have every virtue under the sun, or she 
is good for nothing. It is not amongst lady’s maids that 
one would expect such { a faultless monster as the world 
ne’er saw ;’ I should as soon go hunting in search of a fox 
with two tails, — by the bye, we are in full cry after a gov- 
erness also, — are we not, Maria ?” • 

“ Yes ! and so is my sister,” answered Lady Howard, 
trying not to be out of countenance, “ Mademoiselle Bern- 
stein has become intolerably susceptible of affronts, and is 
always imagining them to be intended, which is the only 
reason for my parting with her so soon. If I am reading a 
newspaper in the evening, and do not observe her entree tc 
tea she comes up with the air of a tragedy queen, to hope 
she has not offended my ladyship. When I talk of girls 


86 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


who have been ill-educated, she takes it for granted I level 
all I say at her, and is sorry Miss Matilda’s proficiency does 
not satisfy me,— and if I admire any young lady’s manner 
or accomplishments, she tells me how very hard she has 
worked lately, but that 1 Miss Matilda has been sadly mis- 
managed.’” 

“ True enough,” muttered Miss Neville, in an under- 
tone. 

“ I must really send Eleanor to some school in England, 
or to some convent abroad, rather than encounter all the 
vexation of another Madame Pirouette,” said Lady Fitz- 
Patrick ; “ it will be the joy of my life when she makes her 
conge, for her tongue is so incessantly active that she talks 
in her very sleep.” 

“ I will venture to mention a request of mine, without 
binding you at all to grant it,” said Lady Olivia, in a tone 
of some diffidence and hesitation. “ Perhaps one of my 
sisters may be disposed to indulge me, and if that is not 
convenient, let us forget that I have mentioned the subject, 
for I shall press it no further. The person whom I once 
hoped to have employed in my own family as governess, is 
now in want of a situation, and I believe if she were en- 
gaged in that capacity, you would soon think I had conferred 
as great a favor as I feel myself to be asking on her behalf, 
if you are prevailed upon to try her qualifications for teach- 
ing. I do not ask you to retain Miss Porson a day longer 
than she gives satisfaction, but it would gratify me much, 
if you would engage her, by way of experiment.” 

“We can at least let her walk through the school-room 
as so many of her predecessors have done already,” said 
Sir Francis. “ I think the governess before last remained 
a year, and poor Matilda was so unaccustomed to keep one 
so long, that she shed tears at her departure.” 

“ A governess !” exclaimed Lady Howard, looking 
aghast, “ and, of course, by the name, Miss Porson must be 
of British growth.” 

“ Does she play on the harp and sing in perfection,” 
asked Lady Fitz-Patrick, who professed the most enthusi- 
astic love of music, and generally interrupted it with a pro- 
fusion of affected exclamations, “ Ah!” and “ Bravo!” and 
“ Charming!” coming in at the most inappropriate places, and 
nodding time with her head in regular measure, but gene- 
rally half a note out of time. “ Music is my chief requisite 
in a governess, and quite indispensable.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


8 1 


“ Miss Porson performs on the piano-forte admirably, 
replied Lady Olivia, u and she would be most diligent in 
superintending any masters you might engage.” 

“ Excuse me then !” exclaimed Lady Fitz-Patrick, shrug- 
ging her shoulders and making a grimace. “ She could be 
of no use to Eleanor now ; and besides, I am already more 
than half engaged to take Miss Marabout from Lord Fitz- 
Arran’s, — her pupil, Lady Sarah Jenkins, was married not 
six weeks ago to the old Duke of Orton.” 

“ We must take better care of Eleanor,” said Lady Olivia, 
smiling ; “ it was a sad fate for Lady Sarah, at eighteen, to 
throw herself away on a notorious gambler.” 

“ Miss Marabout is quite a Prima Donna among gover- 
nesses,” continued Lady Fitz-Patrick, “ but her terms are 
so enormous, I almost hesitated. She has a voice that 
might fill the opera house, and indeed I have heard she was 
originally intended for the stage.” 

Miss Neville sighed audibly, but Lady Olivia was not 
addicted to sighing. Miss Neville shook her head, but 
Lady Olivia’s remained unmoved ; yet a shade of deep dis- 
appointment and anxiety clouded her usually placid counte- 
nance, while she listened to Lady Fitz-Patrick’s triumphant 
panegyric on Miss Marabout. 11 I hope she will give all the 
satisfaction that is possible,” replied Lady Olivia ; “ but I 
should have felt more sanguine, if you could speak of her 
qualifications for forming the heart and understanding. It 
has been well observed, that the care of a governess is like 
that of a bird for its young ; for she knows that whenever 
her pupils are grown up, she must abandon them, and her 
sole anxiety may be directed to the outward accomplish- 
ments on which her own credit depends : but a mother’s 
solicitude should be chiefly devoted to the formation of a 
character with which she is to be connected forever.” 

u As for her disposition,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, indif- 
ferently, u Eleanor is really a very good average sort of 
girl ; at her age they are all rather irritable and self-suffi- 
cient ; but with this new p'atent governess from Lord Fitz- 
Arran’s, I expect she will become all I could desire, and do 
me great credit in the world.” 

“ I have been thinking that it must be several weeks 
before my letters arrive from Berne,” said Lady Howard, 
observing the regret and disappointment with which Lady 
Olivia had listened to her sister; and in the mean time I 
have no objection to you sending me a sight of Miss Porson 


88 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


that we may talk over her 1 method,’ and hear what ‘ system 
she follows.” 

“ Her’s is a very simple one,” replied Lady Olivia 
“With a judicious mind, and an active, but kind-hearted 
disposition, she suits her plan to the varying circumstances 
and tendencies of those she instructs. Christian principle 
is her ruling object in every thing, and she has the art of 
inculcating it with all the occupations that interest her 
pupils.” 

“ Then she must be something like yourself, Olivia! and 
that ought to be an ample recommendation,” replied Lady 
Howard, warmly ; “ let her come to me to-morrow.” 

“ It will be the best consolation I can have, for not re- 
quiring her services in my own family, if she is useful to 
Matilda,” said Lady Olivia, with some emotion. “ I trust, 
dear Maria, you will never have cause to regret having 
indulged me on this occasion. I n essential points, I know 
Miss Porson to be all that a mother’s heart should desire ; 
and with respect to those graceful and ornamental accom- 
plishments, which are, at best, the mere frame to a pictnre, 
I believe her teaching will be such as to satisfy your utmost 
wishes.” 

“ As for Miss Marabout,” cried Miss Neville, bitterly, “ I 
have no doubt she is some superficial dressed-up fine lady, 
who cannot speak her mother tongue correctly.” 

“ For once, in a way, you are right, Barbara !” exclaimed 
Lady Howard, laughing, “ I observed in the peep that 
Sophia gave me of her letter, Miss Marabout said that she 
would not be £ af-fraid 1 to c except ’ the situation. Now, to do 
her justice, I really believe she would have been incapable 
of committing such flagrant blunders in either French or 
Italian.” 

“ Well ! we cannot have everything,” replied Lady Fitz- 
Patrick, impatiently ; “and there are thousands of people 
who can spell correctly, for one who can sing like Miss 
Marabout. I have no desire to make a has bleu of Eleanor.” 

“ My dear Sophia ! you must not undervalue the impor- 
tance of a literary education,” said Lady Howard, in a tone 
of dignified remonstrance ; “ consider how it strengthens 
the faculties — how it enlarges our resources of happiness 
and occupation — how it acquaints us with ourselves, and 
with all that is noble, elevated, and interesting, in the 
past history of man, or in his present character and circum- 
stances.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


89 


Addison ! or Johnson, hem !” said Sir Francis, laughing. 

“ Maria ! all that you say on the superiority of literature 
over mere accomplishments, is very true,” observed Lady 
Olivia ; “ but if the one excels the other so infinitely, how 
much more do religious principles outweigh all that can be 
said of what is merely for the present hour. You will 
find in Miss Porson, one who can discriminate the relative 
importance of them all, and who, while she will neglect 
nothing that it is your desire Matilda should learn, is pe 
culiarly capable of guiding and improving her taste in 
reading.” 

“ I have always considered that reading aloud well is an 
extremely pretty accomplishment for girls,” said Lady Fitz- 
Patrick, looking very intellectual; “and when Eleanor has 
time, I mean to have Mr. Barnet, the Elocution master, for 
an hour every week, to keep her i 1 practice.” 

“ Miss Porson tells me,” continued Lady Olivia, “ that 
she considers one of the most important means of instruct- 
ing girls to be by conversation. Young people often attend 
but slightly to what they read, but always remember what 
they hear. They frequently take up confused or mistaken 
notions from books, which a judicious friend may soon dis- 
cover and explain, in the course of discussion ; and it ex- 
ercises their judgment in forming and expressing their 
opinions, which so few girls are accustomed to do, with any 
clearness or precision.” 

“ So much the better !” exclaimed Sir Francis ; “ I never 
wish to see a girl with opinions of her own ; it only makes 
her tirescime and pedantic. I like nothing so much as the 
agreeable nonsense of young ladies, who never think or re- 
flect for an hour of their lives, and you will ruin Matilda 
entirely by making her too sensible. She will do nothing 
but speak moral sentences, like Joseph Surface, and be just 
as little in earnest as he was. I detest all humbug.” 

“ So do I !” replied Lady Olivia, smiling at the vehe- 
mence of Sir Francis. “ I quite coincide in your enjoyment 
of a little lively persiflage, and would be sorry to see Matil- 
da’s present gayety and animation smothered under a 
mountain of good sense. But still there is time for every 
thing, and as you see that the brightest colors look tho 
gayest on a dark ground ; so I am convinced that the live- 
liest spirits come out with most effect, from a mind where 
the ground-work is sober and rational reflection. Miss 
Porson lays aside some part of every day, for a calm and 


DO 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


serious discussion of all her pupil’s studies, occupations, and 
plans. Not merely for a lecture, but she encourages the 
girl herself to talk. If her opinions are correct, she re- 
ceives them with deference ; and where they are not formed 
on right principles, she endeavors carefully, but very gently, 
to rectify them.” 

“Well! it sounds all vastly judicious,” said Lady Fitz- 
Patrick, laughing ; “ but, as Sir Francis observes, I would 
not give much for the opinions and reflections of a young 
philosopher, like Matilda, scarcely yet sixteen years old.” 

“ What plans or objects could she have in view,” added 
Sir Francis, “ except to be admired for a certain number of 
years, and then married at last.” 

“ Probably nothing better, unless she is carefully in- 
structed,” replied Lady Olivia, earnestly. “ Every thing 
depends upon the understanding being cultivated and en- 
larged, and on the heart being directed aright. When I 
see an unfortunate girl who is blindly driven on in the 
acquisition of her various tasks, by a governess who holds 
out no right motive for the efforts of her pupil — it reminds 
me of a race-horse, mounted by a skilful jockey, and whip- 
ped and spurred along the course. The poor animal can- 
not perceive the design of all this heartless labor, except 
that he is surrounded by competitors whom he is evidently 
expected to outstrip, and encouraged and urged on by 
acclamations and applauses from all the assembled spec- 
tators.” 

“ A very graphic description,” said Sir Francis ; “ and I 
am sure both Eleanor and Matilda seem to be fairly entered 
for the sweep-stakes.” 

“ But, on the contrary,” continued Lady Olivia, earnestly, 
“ if you fully point out to a girl the evils of ignorance, she 
will long to be freed from them. Hold out to her the plea- 
sure she may confer in her own domestic circle, by the ex- 
ercise of her accomplishments, and she will desire to excel 
in them. Explain to her the dignity of character, and the 
peace of mind which result from laying aside the petty 
rivalship and jealousies that must degrade those who seek 
for the world’s applause, and she will soon rise above its in- 
fluence. Impress upon her the blessedness that may be 
found in the sure prospect of everlasting felicity, and by the 
grace of God she will at length know from her own expe- 
rience, that there is no other foundation on which we can 
rest our happiness with security.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


91 


“ What you say is really excellent,” replied Lady Fitz 
Patrick, suppressing a yarn ; “ but it would take more time 
than we could possibly spare, considering all that Eleanor 
has to do. I shall be grievously disappointed in her, if two 
years hence, when she is to come out, my daughter is not 
perfect mistress of French, Italian, and German.” 

“ You should give her a different language for every day 
of the week !” interrupted Miss Neville, satirically. 

“ She must paint flowers, landscapes, and miniatures, like 
an artist, besides playing on the harp and piano-forte in 
perfection,” continued Lady Fitz-Patrick. u She is now 
practising the guitar, and will certainly be a first-rate singer. 
Whatever leisure Eleanor may have, she devotes to embroi- 
dering, in which I am really anxious for her to excel ; and 
I think it of great importance that she should keep up her 
dancing and calisthenic exercises.” 

Sir Francis groaned aloud. 11 What a tread-mill the poor 
girl’s mind is in ! The arts and sciences must be thrown 
into a state of picturesque confusion during the twenty-four 
hours in which she has to study them all. Why ! Sophia, a 
professor thinks his life laboriously occupied in mastering 
one branch of art, but our friend is to be perfect in them all 
before she is eighteen !” 

“ Eleanor is fully more eager than myself,” observed 
Lady Fitz-Patrick, dryly , 11 she would not abate one of her 
tasks on any account.” 

u Ah ! very likely, for all girls have so much vanity, they 
will make any exertion to excel,” continued Sir Francis. 
“ It is a curious fact, that the willing horse in a mail-coach 
is always shorter lived than those that are indolent, for he 
overstrains his powers. But I need not speak of Eleanor, 
she gets off cheaply compared with my own Matilda, who is 
destined, besides all you have named, to acquire a ‘ super- 
cilious’ knowledge of history and mathematics. She must 
repeat the name of every captain of cavalry at the battle of 
Blenheim ; and her last governess was dismissed for igno- 
rance, because she could not recollect how many children 
Queen Anne had, though not one of them lived a year.” 

“ Keep to facts,” Sir Francis,” interposed Lady Howard, 
11 1 have a great dislike to embellishment.” 

u Can you deny then, that I caught Matilda in tears over 
a primrose the other day, because she had called it a mono- 
petalous corolla instead of some other designation equally 
insignificant to her. It made me mournful, really, to con 


92 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


trast the poor girl’s feelings with my own juvenile associa 
tions, when the sunny primrose-banks of spring'used to fill 
me with such rapture, that even yet the sight of one makes 
me young again.” 

“ I agree with you in lamenting,” said Lady Olivia, “ the 
years of joyous youth and natural pleasure which are often 
sacrificed, that a child may accumulate those accomplish- 
ments which it will probably be the first act of her liberty 
to relinquish, while no time is left for observing what is 
around us, or for exercising the charities, the affections, and 
the duties of life !” 

“Yes!” interrupted Sir Francis, “the education-fever 
must have nearly reached its crisis now, for every young 
lady makes her debut w T ith a mass of accomplishments, — a 
threatening of spine complaint, a confirmed tendency to 
headaches, and her own peculiar diet, which she cannot exist 
without observing.” 

“ I never remember our being so nearly of the same opin- 
ion on any subject before, Sir Francis!” said Lady Olivia, 
laughing ; “ but I agree with you perfectly, in grudging the 
happy hours of childhood that are now sacrificed to vanity, 
at a time when the mere consciousness of youth and joyous 
existence gives a spring and elasticity to the spirits, which 
often pervade all our remaining years. The salutary ex- 
ercise and necessary repose of young people are constantly 
circumscribed, their faculties are overstrained, and when 
they stop to take breath after the long career of emulation 
and discipline, their first impulse will probably be to relax 
into the unbounded enjoyment of that rest and leisure which 
they must so often have longed to taste.” 

“ It is singular,” observed Sir Francis, “ how many of the 
most celebrated men have had great disadvantages of edu- 
cation to struggle against, so that we never should have 
expected them to attain eminence at all. But I suspect 
we often destroy the vigor of intellect by too incessant 
cultivation.” 

“ I believe you are right,” said Lady Olivia ; “ every one 
must have remarked, that the instinctive love of self-pre- 
servation in children among the higher classes, is seldom so 
active as in those who are less objects of care and solicitude, 
because, being accustomed to depend on the watchfulness of 
others, they lose that quick perception of danger which is as 
natural to infants as it is to animals. The eagerness for 
knowledge also, which is born with all children, becomes 


OR THU, MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


93 


surfeited by over-indulgence, and enervated by too much 
aid. But the curiosity of young people should be excited 
on all useful subjects, and ought to receive such assistance 
as shall encourage their own minds to work out the rest.” 

“ Yes,” said Sir Francis, “ nature is too much out of 
fashion now in education, — she has her faults and deficien- 
cies, certainly, but I would be for guiding and correcting, 
without utterly exterminating her.” 

“ Above all,” added Lady Olivia, “ I am apprehensive 
that the habit of quiet meditation and self-examination, 
which is one of our chief duties, will scarcely ever be ac- 
quired ; and that, where there are so many studies to call 
the thoughts abroad, they will seldom be profitably employed 
at home.” 

“ How very strangely you talk, Olivia ! ” exclaimed Lady 
Fitz-Patrick ; “ I could fancy the celebrated Hervey going 
out to meditate among tombs ; but nothing on earth would 
puzzle me more completely than to be set down for an hour’s 
solitary reflection ; and as for Eleanor, it is absolute non- 
sense to talk of it.” 

“ I know that meditation is one of our most difficult 
Christian duties,” replied Lady Olivia, “ but, at the same 
time, it is one of the most important. We can read or hear 
a dozen of books more easily than we can meditate properly 
on one ; but yet our inward thoughts are the only tests by 
which we can know the real state of our minds. Whatever 
we turn to naturally when alone, is the thing that engrosses 
most of our regard, and therefore we should often look 
inwards to ascertain if our hearts are stored for eternity, 
and how far they are devoted to the service of God. Reli- 
gious meditations have been compared to the blossoms on a 
tree in spring ; many of them fall off, come to nothing, and 
end in vanity ; but yet they are the first things in which 
spiritual -mindedness consists, and there can be no fruit, 
good or bad, but what proceeds from our thoughts.” 

“ My poor Matilda ! we shall have her soon in a state of 
excruciating reflection, under the superintending care of 
Miss Porson,” said Sir Francis, laughing ; “ I should like 
to see them, like Mahometan Souffees, wrapt in sublime 
meditation from noon till midnight.” 

“ Dear Olivia ! ” said Lady Howard, with an air of 
superior wisdom, u like the plans of all mere amateurs in 
education, your’s have but one fault, that they are quite 
impossible.” 


94 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


“ Let us beware,” said Lady Olivia, gently, u of one very 
common and dangerous device which Satan has frequent 
recourse to in the world. When there are any Christian 
duties or doctrines to which no rational objection can be 
made, he leads us off into caricatured views, and either 
makes them appear such an intolerable restraint on our 
selves, or in such an extravagant light by the conduct of 
others, that we are tempted to abjure them altogether. I 
pity as much as you do those visionaries who are delivered 
up to the power of imagination.” 

Lady Howard gave an expressive cough, and glanced at 
Miss Neville, whose eyes had been for some time fixed on 
the ceiling in profound abstraction ; but Lady Olivia 
endeavored not to notice this mischievous application of 
her words.” 

“ At the same time,” continued she, “ I think there can 
be nothing truly great or good in any one who has not a 
habit of steady reflection, which it must be the result of 
many persevering efforts to acquire. It need not often 
interrupt the busy occupations of life, but it should fre- 
quently accompany them, till at length a truly reflecting 
mind becomes like the alchemist, who turns all he touches 
into gold.” 

11 Or, like the lady in the Fairy tale, who dropt pearls 
and diamonds at every word she spoke,” added Lady Fitz- 
Patrick ; K I have always envied her that talent, and could 
we only impart it to Eleanor, she need learn nothing else in 
this mercenary world.” 

“ Excuse me, Sophia, if I have been too serious at pre- 
sent,” said Lady Olivia, glancing round on her auditors, 
who were all in different attitudes of weariness ; “ but it 
will be an important crisis in Eleanor’s life when she re- 
covers entirely from her late alarming illness, and resumes 
the progress of education. She has to be formed for eter- 
nity, — her tastes and habits are still undecided, and it re- 
mains with you to give them their future bias ; all around 
her must be transient and fleeting, but these become every 
day more unalterable, and will be permanent forever. 
Oh ! pause one moment, and consider what you and your 
precious child will think of this important choice, when 
the short dream of our lives is ended, and we are about to 
awaken in eternity. Do every thing, dear Sophia, in sub- 
servience to her immortal interests, and you will never have 
cause to regret it. Many pleasing accomplishments are 


OK THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 

like trinkets, suitable to Eleanor’s station in life, and per- 
fectly proper for her to have, if they are agreeable to you, 
and to be laid aside in after life if she tires of them. But 
the chief object is, to strengthen her understanding, by 
teaching her how to act and feel in all the various circum- 
stances of life, as shall be most for her happiness and for 
your own comfort.” 




MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


CHAPTER VII. 


School friendships are not always found, 

Though fair in promise, permanent and sound; 

Each dreams that each is just what he appears, 

But learns his error in maturer years, 

When disposition, like a sail unfurl’d, 

Shows all its rents and patches to the world. 

Cowper. 

When Eleanor and Matilda were sufficiently recovered, 
they recommenced the labors of education, superintended 
by Miss Marabout and Miss Porson, each of whom acted 
according to such expectations as might have been formed 
from the preceding conversation ; and before many months 
had elapsed, an obvious change was perceptible in the 
character and conduct of the two young ladies, though they 
continued to attend some of the same classes, and in a few 
instances to pursue similar studies. Much was outwardly 
alike, but that which gives its stamp and value to every 
thing, the motive that guided them on all occasions, was 
different. 

Eleanor Fitz-Patrick gradually had her masters so mul- 
tiplied around her, that if she could have had one for each 
of the two-and-thirty separate faculties with which phreno- 
logists have gifted us, it appeared as if Lady Fitz-Patrick 
would have made them work simultaneously to prime and 
load her daughter with accomplishments, that the final ex- 
plosion might be greater. She soon became the admiration 
and the boast of all those innumerable teachers who vied 
with Miss Marabout in the most enthusiastic praises of 
their pupil. Eleanor was, from this time, the show-scholar 
of every class, and it was as good as an advertisement in 
the newspapers for any master to say she was his pupil. 
If a stranger inquired how Mr. Crotchet taught music, 
Miss Fitz-Patrick was requested to play her best sonata ; 
or when Monsieur Dumont had a grand exhibition of his 
French scholars, she generally received as raptuous bursts 
of applause for recitation as ever Talma did on the stage. 
Eleanor’s drawings were framed and hung up in the school- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. O'? 

room, that every one might he witness to her extraordinary 
genius ; and Lady Howard sarcastically observed, that it 
was well worth while to pay a shilling for the exhibition ; 
but no one ever received a hint, either from Eleanor or Miss 
Marabout, that the outline and shading had been corrected 
and finished by Mr. Crayon himself. Her embroidery was 
also displayed for universal admiration, and excited the 
greatest applause, being so exquisitely fine that it might 
have been examined through a microscope, but no acknowl 
edgment was deemed necessary that the more difficult parts 
were done by Miss Marabout herself. Before long, Eleanor 
Fitz-Patrick had been invested with as many medals and 
ribbons as any general officer in the service, and she acquired 
a conceited, self-satisfied look, which was obvious to the most 
superficial observer. She laid down the law about painting 
and music, as if it were impossible for any one to understand 
more on the subject than she did, or to support a different 
opinion when hers was known. 

Eleanor could not bear the' slightest criticism on any- 
thing she had done, and even “ faint praise” was intolerably 
offensive to her. One day, having shown a drawing to Lady 
Fitz-Patrick, for which she obtained but slight commenda- 
tion, as her mother happened' to be occupied at the moment, 
Eleanor angrily threw it into the flames, saying, “ If you 
can pronounce no better judgment than that it seems nicely 
done, an expression better suited to a mutton chop, it can 
only be fit for the fire ; I never wish to show a mediocre 
drawing in my portfolio !” 

If any one spoke in an audible voice while Eleanor per- 
formed on the harp in company, she tried as much as pos- 
sible to show the annoyance it occasioned, and sometimes 
stopped altogether, saying, “ that the noise made her so ner- 
vous she could not proceed.” “ Eleanor !” whispered Lady 
Fitz-Patrick one day, “ how dreadfully passionate you have 
become !” 

“No wonder!’ replied she hastily, “ I never played so 
well in my life as this evening, and some of the most beau- 
tiful passages were utterly lost, owing to the perpetual mo- 
tions of old Mrs. Arundell’s tongue. 

“ But, my dear Miss Fitz-Patrick, you should try not to 
show any ill temper, even when you feel it,” added Miss 
Marabout ; “it is a bad thing to get the reputation of being 
irritable, and I have known many girls, whose fortune in 


98 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


life was completely spoilt, for no other reason but that the} 
could not command their temper in company.” 

11 If a medal were to be given for good humor, I am sure 
Eleanor would be indefatigable in trying for it,” said Lady 
Howard, laughing sarcastically ; “ but as there is no partic- 
ular object to be gained by self-control, she thinks she may 
indulge her temper with perfect impunity.” 

In dress Eleanor outshone all contemporaries, and the 
fashion of her costume was a continual object of notice and 
imitation wherever she appeared, and in every school-room. 
At home, however, the scene was very different, for the hair 
en papillotes , and her shoes often slip-shod, bore witness to 
the indifferences he entertained for anything but the osten- 
tation of dress, because in all things it was inculcated on 
Eleanor Fitz-Patrick that it signified less what she really 
was, than what she appeared to be in the eyes of others ; 
and that her own self-respect was of little importance com- 
pared with the respect and admiration of strangers, before 
whom she showed herself in a continual masquerade, adopting 
the opinions and manners most likely to please them, in- 
stead of those most natural to herself. 

From this time Lady Fitz-Patrick’s favorite subject of 
conversation became a dissertation on the merits of Miss 
Marabout, and of course, by implication, on her pupil. In 
every company that she entered it came in, a propos to any- 
thing, or to nothing ; and while she spoke with all the elo- 
quence of enthusiasm, the hands and eyes of the surround- 
ing ladies were turned up in admiration and astonishment, 
to think of her good fortune in having secured such “ a 
treasure.” 

“ I really cannot say enough in her praise,” was the usual 
conclusion in Lady Fitz-Patrick’s most sensible tone. “ In 
fact, I need never have an anxious thought about Eleanor 
while Miss Marabout has charge of her, their time is always 
so well employed. Her manner of teaching stimulates my 
daughter’s energy to such a degree, that she will hardly 
stay long enough in bed to recruit her frame. Before the 
last French examination Eleanor slept every night with a 
dictionary under her pillow, that she might commence her 
studies by peep of day ; and she was detected with a can- 
dlestick concealed in her closet once, that she might get up 
before five in the morning to practice some difficult cadences 
of a new song for Madame Andante’s exhibition on 
Saturday.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


09 


During the harangue of her sister, Lady Howard sat 
upon thorns and looked the picture of vexation, as she felt 
herself, for once in her life, totally eclipsed. 

“ Miss Marabout is certainly quite a pattern governess — 
la femme comme il y en a peu /” said she, in a tone of some 
irritability; “Eleanor will be quite an Admiral Crichton, 
and I wish you joy of having secured such a prodigy as you 
describe. With respect to Miss Porson, she really is such 
an excellent good creature, that there does not appear to be 
a single point on which I could hang a pretext for parting 
with her, but yet she does not quite satisfy my wishes. 
There is nothing brilliant or striking about her, — nothing 
new in the { method ’ she pursues, or in the style of her 
instructions. Yet the smallest hint I give is so well re- 
ceived and so carefully attended to, — all Matilda’s lessons 
are so regularly learnt and so fully understood, that I never 
know where to criticise. My daughter herself is so dis- 
tractedly fond of Miss Porson, that 1 scarcely have the 
heart to cause a separation, and yet I am very desirous of 
finding some one who could spur her on a little faster.” 

The lovely countenance of Matilda Howard seemed to 
brighten with a new expression of life and animation, from 
the moment that Miss Porson took charge of her education ; 
and every day increased the pleasure she felt in her own 
progress, which became easier to her than she could possibly 
have anticipated ; for there was a facility and clearness in 
Miss Porson’s explanations and manner of teaching, which 
Matilda, in all her extensive experience of governesses, had 
never before remarked. Education became no longer what 
is called at Oxford “ a cram but Miss Porson considered 
that much has to be drawn out, as well as to be put in, when 
the mind is properly cultivated, and that the soil may be 
enriched while the plants are taking root. If any subject 
was to be studied that exercised the understanding, Miss 
Porson gave no more assistance than was absolutely neces- 
sary that it might be worked out by herself ; but she never 
allowed a lesson to be laid aside till Matilda had fully mas- 
tered every difficulty. There was a distinctness and preci- 
sion in all that Miss Porson said, which scarcely left her 
pupil a single question to ask ; and when her instructions 
were over, she encouraged the amusements that suited 
Matilda’s years, and spared no trouble to promote the 
sprightliness and vivacity of her holiday hours. 

The only thing in which Matilda was at all remarkable 


100 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


at the classes was, the regularity of her attendance, and the 
perfect correctness with which she executed her tasks. No 
clandestine assistance was afforded by Miss Porson, who 
always recommended such music as it was quite within the 
compass of her powers to perform, and who would never 
allow any of her drawings to be improved by Mr. Crayon, 
as she had never liked what Lady Howard called “ Eleanor’s 
master-pieces.” 

Miss Porson thought the first object in education should 
be to inculcate a love of truth without disguise or embel- 
lishment. “ Whenever you make any person believe what 
you know is not the case, that is a falsehood, whether it be 
done by an actual assertion, by implication, or by evasion,” 
said Miss Porson ; u and on that account I would not put a 
stitch to the embroidery, nor add a line to the drawing, that 
is to be shown as your performance. I see the importance 
of accuracy in every statement so strongly, as almost to 
make me agree with Dr. Johnson, that if a child relates 
any occurrence, and mentions that it took place in one win- 
dow when it really happened in another, he ought to be set 
right.” 

When any master found fault with Matilda, Miss Porson 
was so attentive to rectify the fault, that it was seldom they 
had to make the same remark a second time. But the 
scene was very different when Eleanor had to be corrected, 
for Miss Marabout always vehemently defended her pupil, 
and repeated within her hearing every panegyric that had 
been pronounced upon her extraordinary acquirements, by 
the complaisant and frequently mistaken visitors of Lady 
Fitz-Patrick. 

In her dress, there was no hour of the day at which 
Matilda Howard could have been caught untidy ; yet, from 
the moment she left her dressing-room, not a thought seemed 
ever to arise on the subject of her appearance, for she be- 
came so fully impressed with Miss Porson’s opinion that 
simplicity and neatness alone were requisite. 

The modest diffidence of Matilda’s manner gave an inter- 
est to all she said ; and whatever might be the topic of con- 
versation in company, she generally listened with an air of 
intelligent inquiry, and frequently obtained fuller and more 
interesting information afterwards from Miss Porson, than 
it was possible to do in the slight and superficial notice of 
any subject which is usually taken in society. She read 
many of the standard works in French and English litera 


OK THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


101 


ture with her governess, who pointed out the beauties for 
which they had become celebrated, and the defects for which 
they had been criticised. Miss Porson often sketched out 
all that was known relating to the character and circum- 
stances of the different authors they studied together, in 
order to explain what had probably led them to write and 
think as they had done. She pointed out the peculiarities 
of style and arrangement in every new book they read, and 
she made a continual reference to the effect that every writer 
had been supposed to have upon religion and morals. “ It 
has been well observed,” she said, u that books may be merely 
a tree of knowledge, or they may become to us a tree of life, 
if we pluck from them with discretion, and study them with 
a continual reference to the Divine will, and to the teaching 
of the Holy Spirit Every thing is useful to us, or the re- 
verse, in exact proportion as it inspires love to God, or other- 
wise ; and those books are chiefly to be studied which teach 
us to reflect on our present duties and our future hopes.” 

It was in a very different light that Miss Marabout viewed 
the subject. u I hate what is called 1 solid reading,’ ” she 
said one day to Eleanor ; “ and good sort of books are gene- 
rally like good sort of people, very dull ; but nothing passes 
time more delightfully than a novel. If ever there is any 
subject on my mind that I wish to forget for a few days, my 
infallible resource is to bury myself in the pages of a good 
romance.” 

Miss Marabout frequently rewarded the successful efforts 
of her pupil by allowing her to choose a volume at Cham- 
bers’ Circulating Library, to which she constantly subscribed ; 
and Eleanor read it clandestinely, with a proviso from her 
governess, that if Lady Fitz-Patrick entered the school-room 
she should be ready immediately to substitute in its place 
either Chambaud’s Exercises or her portfolio of drawings. 
Before long, Miss Marabout and Eleanor discovered that no 
subject suited them both so well for discussion during their 
walks as a dissertation on the merits of the last novel they 
had read — the heroes and heroines of which were discussed 
and commented upon with the same interest and animation 
as if they had really existed, and been their most familiar 
friends. All the dramatis ‘persona were examined in detail ; 
their actions were criticised, their misfortunes lamented, and 
their virtues admired, in the most energetic terms. Eleanor 
remembered their names, and discriminated their charac- 
ters with surprising accuracy, and could repeat the bon mot* 


102 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


and repartees of a whole dialogue with astonishing precision. 
The very dresses in which her favorite heroines had ap 
peared on particular occasions, were recalled and described, 
many months after she had closed the book ; and it was 
truly lamentable to see a memory, capacious enough to have 
been stored with all the wisdom of ages, frittered away upon 
what had better never have been known,, and could not have 
been too speedily forgotten. Miss Marabout’s favorite sub- 
ject for confidential intercourse with Eleanor was, to de- 
scribe, in animated terms, all the admiration she had met 
with herself, and all the arts by which it could best be se- 
cured and preserved. Many were the anecdotes Miss Ma- 
rabout related of her own cruelty in rejecting former lovers, 
who seemed to multiply in number the oftener Eleanor list- 
ened, and the more she appeared interested in their fate. 
From time to time some new history was disclosed, under 
seal of the strictest secresy ; and one tale of sensibility in 
particular, which Miss Marabout related of herself, was so 
full of tragic interest, that Eleanor thought it might have 
been immortalized in three volumes at least, and only won- 
dered her governess had survived the unhappy attachment 
she then professed, and which she described with glowing 
eloquence. But nevertheless, Miss Marabout invariably 
talked with such unmeasured horror of old maids, that it 
was very evident she would not willingly add to their num- 
ber, and only desired a favorable opportunity to forget her 
first love though she protested it was quite impossible. 

Miss Marabout and her pupil occasionally opened a news- 
paper also, in much the same spirit of inquiry with which 
they would have dipped into the Newgate Calendar. They 
had both a prodigious relish for the jocular style of trying 
culprits, which is now in vogue, and were entertained with 
reading the newest and most approved methods of swind- 
ling and robbery ; but foreign news or home politics they 
entirely abjured, and always regretted the meeting of Par- 
liament, when the debates occupied so many columns which 
would have been better filled with dreadful accidents and 
atrocious crimes. 

Eleanor’s visits to Lady Olivia became gradually, from 
this time, almost discontinued, and she at last appeared to 
look back upon the pleasure of her former excursions to Ash- 
grove as an amusement of childhood which she had com- 
pletely outgrown. Sometimes she went under shelter of her 
mother’s wing, and was glad to make a hasty apologetic exit 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


103 


along with Lady Fitz-Patrick ; but her visits on Saturday 
were entirely relinquished ; there was always the excuse of 
a children’s ball, where she was obliged to appear ; or she 
had been promised leave to attend the theatre as a reward 
for her last brilliant display ; or she was going with some 
gay party of pleasure, who were to remain in the country 
from Saturday till Monday, enjoying a succession of delight- 
ful festivities. It was far otherwise with Matilda. Lady 
Howard disapproved of girls being much seen before their 
debut, giving it as her decided opinion, that young ladies 
should blaze out at once, if they were to make any sensation 
in society. Matilda was therefore carefully secluded from 
public view ; and as her chief enjoyment consisted in visit- 
ing Lady Olivia, and partaking in the various pleasures of 
country life, the frequency of her excursions to Ashgrove 
was redoubled, and no exertion seemed too great, if she 
could reap for a reward the privilege of being allowed to 
spend, if it were no more than half an hour, in her garden, 
or in the society of her aunt. Lady Olivia gradually accus- 
tomed herself to treat Matilda as her chosen friend and com- 
panion, whom she always welcomed with affectionate regard 
and unlimited confidence. On many occasions she consulted 
Matilda’s taste, constantly referred to her opinions, and en 
trusted her with the execution of any plans and improve- 
ments at the cottage. But what the warm and affectionate 
heart of her niece valued above all else, was the perfect 
openness and candor with which Lady Olivia disclosed her 
most private thoughts and feelings ; while she seemed to 
delight in revealing the treasures of her cultivated under- 
standing and sanctified affections, to one who gradually learnt 
to appreciate their worth, and to emulate what she so greatly 
loved. 

Matilda felt elevated by the consciousness of Lady 
Olivia’s esteem, and valued it above every other earthly 
blessing. On all occasions she endeavored to act and think 
as her aunt would have done under similar circumstances. 
They conversed frequently for hours together, and Matilda’s 
young heart was warmed with a glow of happiness when she 
one day said that her loneliest and saddest n oments were 
cheered and comforted when she thought of her beloved 
Matilda, who supplied that place in her heart which no 
other living being could have done, since the loss of her la- 
mented Laura. 

Matilda’s conversation was no longer like that of a child, 


104 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


merely made up of facts and incidents ; but she had learned 
to draw inferences from all she read or observed, and to 
form opinions with originality and judgment, which gave 
interest and novelty to her remarks. With Lady Olivia 
she could venture at all times to think aloud, in the full as- 
surance that her ideas would be received with indulgence — 
when they were founded aright, that they would be duly ap- 
preciated ; and that in discussing them they would acquire 
a degree of clearness and strength which Matilda felt that, 
in her own unassisted mind, she could not have given them. 
The gay vivacity of her spirits never seemed so buoyant as 
when she hastened to the cottage, with a feeling of antici- 
pated joy, and thought of the cheerful and affectionate wel- 
come which awaited her there ; and Matilda’s longest ab- 
sence from that cherished spot, only showed more clearly 
that it was the home of all her warmest affections, and of all 
her happiest hours. 

“ Matilda !” said Eleanor Fitz-Patrick one morning, when 
she was passing a long Christmas holiday at Lady How- 
ard’s, “ how can you waste so much precious time in reading 
that prosy little book of ‘ Advice to Young Ladies V I 
could give you an abridgment of the whole contents, with- 
out so much as glancing at one of its pages. Chapter I. — 
On the improvement of Time. Rise very early in the 
morning, and never lose a moment all day afterwards. 
Chapter II. — On Conversation. Never speak till you are 
spoken to ; invariably talk sense, and praise every human 
being who is ever mentioned, without exception. Chapter 
III. — On Dress. To be neat, but not gaudy — elegant, but 
not expensive. Chapter IV. — On Morals. To aim at ev- 
ery impossible perfection, and to pretend that you believe 
all other persons come nearer to it than yourself. I think, 
Matilda, that whenever one wishes to see twaddle and sen- 
tentiousness in their utmost extent, a sure way would be, to 
open the first volume that falls in your hands, of ‘ Essays 
on the conduct of Young Ladies,’ or, ‘ Letters from a Mother 
to her Daughter,’ or, 1 Advice to the Young and Beauti- 
ful.’ ” 

“ The last would precisely suit you, Eleanor !” said Ma- 
tilda, good-humoredly, throwing aside her book. 11 Suppose 
you try to write a volume better worth reading, on this 
subject.” 

“No! my good cousin, example is better than precept,” 
replied Eleanor ; “ and I am already, perhaps, held up as 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


105 


a warning occasionally in some school-rooms that yon know 
of, Matilda.” 

Eleanor ! believe me, yon might be present to hear 
every word that is ever said of yon by Miss Porson or me.” 
interrupted Matilda, earnestly. “Yon may read my 
whole heart, and see nothing there that would displease 
you.” 

“ I do believe it !” answered Eleanor, with momentary 
feeling. 44 You are sincerity itself, and you deserve to be 
trusted and confided in implicitly, as I really do. But it 
does enchant me sometimes, to set dear worthy Miss Por- 
son’s hair on end, with giving her my views of life and man- 
ners, for I know she would make our existence a mere tread- 
mill, with nothing to enliven us but a dull routine of duties 
never ended, but always beginning ; a circle, in short, like 
a Devonshire Lane.” 

44 What a provoking mistake,” replied Matilda, eagerly ; 
44 we enjoy quite as much in our little way as you do in 
your’s. Remember papa’s conundrum last night, when he 
asked us, 4 Where is happiness always to be found V and the 
melancholy answer — 4 Only in a dictionary !’ But I really 
think as large a share of enjoyment is to be met with, under 
Miss Porson’s jurisdiction, as it is possible for this world to 
afford.” 

44 Oh, of course ! you are bound to say so, and to main- 
tain it ; but what you call diversion would seem to me the 
greatest bore imaginable. Only fancy the idea of your 
going last Saturday, and superintending a tea-party at Lady 
Olivia’s Sunday School ; spreading bread and butter for 
sixty-eight hungry children, and pressing them to eat it '. 
What an amusement !” 

44 Consider, Eleanor, that you and I both attended the 
menagerie last week, to see the lions fed, which was very 
diverting, and a little in the same line, only on that occa- 
sion there was no feeling of sympathy and kindness, such 
as I experienced at the joyous little festival on Saturday, 
when it would have done your heart good to see Aunt Oli- 
via showing such considerate kindness to all her happy little 
guests.” 

44 Ah, Matilda ! I prophecy that you will some day be 
heroine of a penny tract, with the frontispiece exhibiting 
your figure as Lady Bountiful distributing blankets and 
flannel ; but I shall expand into three volumes octavo, sur- 
rounded by shoals of lovers, and all sorts of interesting em 
* - 


106 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


barrassments — ending in either death or matrimony, as 
novels must inevitably do.” 

u I wish you a pleasanter fate, because, in my small ex- 
perience of romances, I have never yet discovered any 
heroiue with whom I would have consented to change places, 
nor a hero whom I would have married.” 

“ That shows how little you know upon the subject,” re- 
plied Eleanor. “ I could point out fifty pattern lovers, who 
would suit me exactly, and yet no one can imagine that 1 
shall be more easily pleased than you. All that is essential 
in my intended you shall hear ; immense fortune, noble 
family, brilliant talents, unimpeachable temper, elegant 
manners, handsome appearance, and devoted attachment.” 

“ Amongst other requisites, you must add good principles 
and sincere piety, or l shall not give my consent to your ac- 
cepting him, and one might even abate some other recom- 
mendations to secure these ‘ indispensables.’ ” 

u That is all taken for granted,” replied Eleanor, indiffer- 
ently ; “ but the idea is so very new, Matilda, that you 
must have found it in that original little volume of Advice 
to Young Ladies ; so pray continue to benefit by your 
studies, and I wish you no worse fate than to meet with 
some such specimen of insipid perfection as would be re- 
commended to you by the old gentleman, or the old lady, 
who has penned that volume of wholesome dulness ; but 
take my word for it, people with no faults have no virtues. 
I often lament that there is not a censor of the press to pre- 
vent dull people from writing dull books, especially when 
they are upon religion and morality, which ought to elevate 
any intellect that is ever directed to such sublime subjects 
Shall I ever forget the dreary hours we spent with my first 
governess at home, on Sunday, staring into ‘ The Child’s 
Companion,’ or, ‘ The Mother’s Offering,’ or, ‘ The Father’s 
Gift,’ or those two volumes bound in black, that you were 
continually poring over, entitled ‘ Early Piety,’ in which all 
the children died so invariably, about the age of nine or ten, 
that I really at last imagined it impossible for any religious 
child to survive, and that it would be condemning myself to 
death, if I became truly pious. There should be more such 
books for children, as the good, worthy, old Pilgrim’s Pro- 
gress, the Fairchild Family, Mary and her Mother, Abbott’s 
Young Christian, and others I could name, which display 
intellect as well as piety, and life as well as death ; and 
then children would all be much sooner fond of reading than 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


107 


I was, and connect their views more willingly with religion. 
Aunt Olivia says much that is very true about the natural 
enmity of our hearts to all that is connected with futurity ; 
but she acknowledges that a little adaptation to juvenile 
tastes and feelings, might be quite consistent with her most 
enlightened views of evangelical piety, and make it much 
more attractive.” 

“ You should set up a review, Eleanor, and give us your 
criticism in detail,” said Matilda, smiling “ As a lady c in- 
ducts the Sporting Magazine now, pray follow the example 
in a different line.” 

“ Why not ! Ladies think no more of writing books now, 
than their grandmothers did of writing letters. 1 should 
like to put half the modern volumes into a cheesepress, and 
to see the whey run off, though in some cases very little 
solid bulk would remain. I have dipped into several of the 
Memoirs on Aunt Olivia’s table, latety, and it is amazing to 
see how the author holds his reader by the button, with 
long-winded preliminaries. They generally begin by tracing 
a careful pedigree of the individual in question, for four or 
five generations back, enlivened by a panegyric on his great- 
grandfather, and an account of some long-forgotten book, 
of which the old gentleman was supposed to have been the 
author. Then follows the precise date of the mother’s 
marriage, with her descent and perfections duly set forth. 
After that comes a list of the hero’s nine or ten brothers 
and sisters, with the year and month in which they were 
born and died, an account of what professions they follow- 
ed, and with what success. Usually, one of the sisters who 
married has unfortunately dropt out of sight, and the author 
makes an apology for his deficient information, and forms * 
some interesting conjectures what became of her. By the 
time your patience is nearly extinct, the good man himself 
is at last produced, probably the fifth or sixth son ; and we 
are treated to an elaborate discussion, which of two or three 
villages he was born in, and what professions he originally 
designed to follow before he entered the church. Then 
come several very indifferent verses, written when he was 
under ten. But I have been sworn at Highgate never to read 
bad poetry when it can be got good ; so I generally conclude 
with a glance at the frontispiece, to see the respectable old 
gentleman putting as good a face on the matter as he can , 
and I really give him my warmest sympathy on having his 


108 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


memory so tarnished by the folly and indiscretion of sur 
viving friends.” 

u I have lately discovered that old books on religion, are 
like old wine, always the best,” replied Matilda. “ There 
seems to be more body in them ; for really such very flimsy 
divinity is often published at present, that with the assist- 
ance of a good concordance to suggest appropriate tests, any 
child might supply the string of reflections by which they 
are united.” 

“ The chief characteristic of modern writing and conver- 
sation, is tediousness,” said Eleanor, yawning ; “ and after 
the age of fifty I mean always to speak with a stop watch 
in my hand, to remind me when I have exceeded the limits 
of ordinary patience, and never to remember anything that 
occurred to me above ten years before.” 

Miss Marabout had been several months at Lady Fitz- 
Patrick’s before she felt disposed to accompany Eleanor on 
a visit to Ashgrove ; but one leisure day, the weather being 
remarkably favorable for a long walk, and several persons 
having recently mentioned Lady Olivia Neville as a most 
superior person, with whom it. was a great privilege to be 
acquainted, she became suddenly seized with a longing de- 
sire to see her, and resolved for once to make the effort of 
calling and showing herself to that lady, whom .she deter- 
mined to fascinate completely. She piqued herself par- 
ticularly on her mani&re de sociHe , (as she called it.) and 
had no doubt that, as Lady Olivia was such a discriminating 
person, she would at once see her infinite superiority to 
Miss Porson, of whom Miss Marabout persuaded herself she 
had the greatest contempt, though that feeling had in it an 
unaccountable tincture of jealousy. With mingled feelings 
of exultation and curiosity, this elegant and accomplished 
lady equipped herself for the proposed excursion, complain- 
ing, as she went along of the extreme distance, and of the 
filthy roads, for she rather entertained Quinn’s opinion, that 
the country ought to be all paved. Miss Marabout won- 
dered often to Eleanor, as they proceeded, whether Lady 
Olivia would really turn out to be all that report had pre- 
pared her to expect. “ Quite a Madona, I suppose,” said 
she, “ like the pictures we see of Lady Rachel Russell, in 
her widow’s cap ; or like one of the marble figures we put on 
a tomb-stone, her head reclining on her hand, and a sigh 
breathing from her lips. I can perfectly fancy your aunt 
already, — a voice scarcely audible, and a figure so fragile 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


109 


that this cold breeze would utterly annihilate her, — with a 
melancholy cadence in all she says, like the touching tones 
tones of an Eolian harp.” 

u Not at all !” interrupted Eleanor, laughing ; “ my aunt 
appears to ordinary visitors rather cheerful than otherwise • 
walks out in all weathers, and dresses precisely like other 
people.” 

u How very strange !” exclaimed Miss Marabout, indig- 
nantly ; “ after such excruciating sorrow, it takes sadly from 
the interest of her story if she can ever banish it one mo- 
ment from her drooping heart.” 

“ I have heard my aunt observe, that by sharing other 
people’s affliction, she feels relieved from her own,” said 
Eleanor. u Lady Olivia thinks no one obtains a portion of 
happiness in this world sufficient to satisfy their own hearts, 
unless they can share in the joys of others, and that no sor- 
rows would ever overwhelm us, if we could also participate 
in the trials of our neighbor ; she acts upon this principle, 
and I should say from the result, that her judgment is 
right. None but the selfish can ever be utterly miserable, 
was a maxim she very often inculcated on me, for in 4 seek- 
ing other’s good we find our own.’ ” 

“ Well ! chaucun a son gout” replied Miss Marabout. 
“ In Lady Olivia’s place, 1 should have sat in a darkened 
room, with my husband’s miniature in my hand, a few select 
friends admitted occasionally to weep with me, my harp un- 
strung, and some volume of pensive interest as the soothing 
companion of my lonely hours.” 

u That would look beautiful for a week,” said Eleanor, 
laughing, u but you must not survive much longer, or I am 
sure no one could keep it up. However, I hope you will 
some day be an inconsolable widow, and then I shall hasten 
to see whether you act the part better than my aunt. No 
eye can gaze on that wasted countenance without seeing 
that there exists a corroding sorrow within her breast, which 
lives there in perpetual remembrance, yet she does not wil- 
lingly obtrude it on the notice of any one ; and, as she more 
particularly screens her feelings from the every-day sym- 
pathy of strangers, there will be' nothing in her manner at 
first which will at all satisfy your expectations.” 

“ All that I say then is, that Lady Olivia must be defi- 
cient in sensibility, which is undoubtedly the greatest defect 
that any one can have,” replied Miss Marabout, sighing. 
« There are people who scarcely shed more tears for their 


no 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


own greatest sorrow, than I have wept over the trials of’ 
Margaret Lindsay, or the woes of Constance de Beverley.’ 

“ Aunt Olivia remarked to me one day, that the more 
people sympathise with fictitious grief, the less they feel 
that which is real,” answered Eleanor ; “ and I have ac- 
tually seen h*er more melted by the affliction of some old 
woman in a smoky hovel full of dirt and wretchedness, than 
ever you were by our favorite and refined pictures of woe. 
She never hears of distress in the neighborhood without 
rising at once and hastening there, to ascertain whether it 
be a case where any alleviation can be afforded, either by 
sympathy or kindness.” 

“ How fortunate it is that some people are born with such 
powerful resolution of character, and stern self-control, that 
they can conquer what is overpowering to the more sensitive 
feelings of others,” continued Miss Marabout sighing, with 
a look of evident self-complacency ; a I have always had too 
much refinement willingly to enter on such scenes as you 
describe, and I wonder that Lady Olivia does not rather 
commission her maid to visit the cottages instead of going 
herself.” 

“ My aunt never does good by proxy,” replied Eleanor ; 
“ and I have heard Matilda remark, that she thinks Lady 
Olivia’s dignity and elevation of character never appear 
more graceful and impressive than in the lowly dwelling of 
a suffering fellow-creature, where she seems to identify her 
self with the unfortunate, and to remember only that we 
have one common lot of affliction, and one common lesson 
to be derived from it, that though in this world there is 
tribulation, yet we have hope in Him who came to share all 
our sorrows, that He might finally deliver us from them. I 
reverence Lady Olivia’s whole conduct and character, as 
every one must who has been a single hour in her society ; 
but I never can hope to resemble her, and do not even at- 
tempt it, as Matilda does. It is this consciousness of my 
deficiency that makes me detest the very thought of entering 
Ashgrove, though there is no danger of any reproach, ex- 
cept that of my own heart, for Lady Olivia often helps out 
my excuse for neglecting her, when I am rather at a loss to 
invent one myself ; but here we are, in a place where I used 
to be happy, though my taste for it is now over ; and there,” 
said Eleanor, with a half-contemptuous laugh, u there is my 
cousin in what was once our garden, working so busily with 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


Ill 


her rake, that she has not even noticed our arrival ; what a 
rural-looking figure she is.” 

“ I really wonder that Miss Porson allows it,” said Miss 
Marabout, indignantly ; “ such a waste of time, when gar- 
deners in abundance could be got to put the whole place in 
order for a shilling ; but I never felt so sensible as now, 
Eleanor, of the infinite advantage it is to you having been 
placed under my superintendence, and time will show the 
difference between a pupil of mine, and a piece of home 
manufacture, such as Matilda will be, under the care of 
your aunt, and good, well-meaning Miss Porson.” 

Miss Marabout had time for a minute and approving 
scrutiny of the china, books, and pictures in Lady Olivia’s 
boudoir, and had even extended her investigation to the 
notes and visiting cards which lay upon the table, before 
the sound of an approaching footstep caused her hastily to 
take a seat, and adopt her most graceful attitude on the 
sofa ; for Miss Marabout’s ideas of grace were very similar 
to those of a dancing-master, and she thought no one could 
be thoroughly elegant who did not study an attitude on all 
occasions in which she might have sat for a picture. Such 
simple elegance as that of Lady Olivia Neville the scruti- 
nizing visitor had never seen before, and for several minutes 
after their introduction, she insensibly experienced the 
effect of a mind and manner superior to her own. At 
length, however, Miss Marabout’s usual self-sufficiency 
broke loose from restraint, and she resolved to put forth 
all her fascinations, and to charm Lady Olivia completely 
by her conversational powers. 

“ Your ladyship has probably been much surprised that 
I have not sooner done myself the honor of calling here,” 
she began in a deprecating tone. “Indeed I have often 
blamed myself for it, and resolved at last to overcome every 
impediment. Miss Eleanor’s education takes me up inces- 
santly, and I am quite accablee with friends of my own to 
visit ; besides which, we have really been overpowered with 
engagements for some time past, so that altogether, it has 
been quite an absolute impossibility for me to snatch an 
hour for visiting here. I trust your ladyship sees it in the 
light I wish, and that you will not suppose any want of re- 
spect on my part has made me so long a stranger here.” 

“ I am not inclined, Miss Marabout, to make any supposi- 
tion of the kind you apprehend,” replied Lady Olivia, with 
gentle dignity ; “ no one has ever been deficient in sucb 


112 


MODERN ACCOMl* LISHME N Tb, 


respect and attention to me as are requisite, and I am com 
fident they will not be wanting on your part.” 

“ It is very obliging of your ladyship to say so,” continued 
Miss Marabout, rather at a loss what to answer. “ I am 
anxious for the good opinion of every one, and am happy to 
feel assured of your ladyship’s, for the bright example you 
hold forth to society has ever been the subject of admira- 
tion to all, and more especially to me, as as ” 

“ Excuse me, Miss Marabout,” interrupted Lady Olivia, 
indifferently. “ Did you find the walk very fatiguing this 
morning ?” 

“ Not so overpowering as I expected, or we should have 
sooner attempted it,” replied Miss Marabout. “ Tell Lady 
Olivia, Miss Fitz-Patrick, how very much concerned ypu 
have been lately that so many unavoidable circumstances 
have occurred to prevent your calling here oftener ; our 
excuses are not merely bien trouves , but my pupil may de- 
clare with perfect truth that ” 

u No more apologies, if you please, Miss Marabout,” 
said Lady Olivia, smiling. u I hope Eleanor and myself 
are never to be on such ceremonious terms with each other, 
as to begin an interchange of speeches and civilities ; the 
next step would be to leave her visiting card for me when 
I am out. No, I never call in question my niece’s affec- 
tions, nor allow myself to doubt that something insuperable 
has occurred when she does not give me the pleasure of see- 
ing her, so never be distressed with any useless anxiety on 
the subject.” 

Lady Olivia took her niece affectionately by the hand, 
and Eleanor colored with a feeling of conscious guilt, 
when she perceived the unsuspecting confidence with which 
her aunt relied on the continuance of her very inconstant 
attachment. 

“ This is really a charming spot, Lady Olivia,” continued 
Miss Marabout, glancing around the cottage with an air of 
patronizing approbation ; “ I have quite a passion for retire- 
ment, and could fancy myself getting romantic here in a 
very short time. Indeed, as I observed to Miss Eleanor a 
few minutes ago, if ever I were to be buried before I am 
dead, this is the very place I should prefer. Still, your 
ladyship must find it rather out of the way, and very lonely. 
I shall make a point of bringing Miss Fitz-Patrick oftener 
here, and shall be most happy to come myself as frequently 
as possible ; but the fact is, my pupil and I have seldom 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


113 


a moment we can call our own ; from the time we rise in 
the morning till we go to bed at night, Miss Eleanor is on 
a perfect rail-road, she gets through so much. It is a point 
of conscience with me to neglect nothing, and I hope your 
ladyship will agree in thinking, that more could not be ex- 
pected from any person in my situation.” 

“ Nor in any other,” said Lady Olivia, smiling. u To 
neglect nothing is certainly a difficult attainment in the 
right use of our time.” 

u I must do Miss Eleanor the justice to allow, that her 
progress is perfectly surprising,” continued Miss Marabout, 
rapidly. “ She merits all I can say on her behalf, and cer- 
tainly gets so much admiration from every quarter, that it 
will be the strongest and best motive to encourage her future 
exertions as well as my own.” 

Eleanor, though accustomed to applause, felt elated in the 
highest degree at hearing this panegyric ; and looked at 
Lady Olivia to see her own feelings of pride and pleasure 
reflected in the face of her aunt, — but she was almost 
startled to observe the expression of sorrowful commisera- 
tion, which met her eager glance, and the grave and anxious 
look with which Lady Olivia contemplated her counte- 
nance, — it was seldom now, that any look but of approba- 
tion was turned upon that lovely form, — it was seldom, too, 
that any language but of praise was addressed to her ear, — 
yet the heart of Eleanor Fitz-Patrick told her for the moment, 
how certainly it was from the eye of that friend who loved 
her the most truly of any upon earth, that a tear was hastily 
brushed away, as Lady Olivia suddenly averted her coun- 
tenance to hide her emotion, — and with a transient pang of 
regret, Eleanor remembered like a dream of former days, 
the humble and teachable spirit with which she had once 
attended to the mild, enlightened, and affectionate instruc- 
tions of her aunt, the pleasing influence of whose tender 
care was now exchanged for an intoxicating draught of inju- 
dicious and indiscriminating panegyric. 

u Your ladyship would have been delighted to hear all 
that Mr. Crayon said of Miss Eleanor’s last head in chalks,” 
continued Miss Marabout. “ I meant to bring the drawing 
here for inspection, but it might be so very easily destroyed, 
that we could not venture. The last group of flowers that 
she embroidered seem as if they might be picked up from 
the canvass, — and if we had but a harp, you would be aston- 
ished at Miss Eleanor’s execution. She practices three 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


114 

hours a-day, which your ladyship will not think too much, 
on account of the importance and the difficulty of accom 
plishing it in perfection.” 

“ Miss Marabout ! considering that our acquaintance is 
so very recent, and that there are some important points on 
which I already perceive we differ, let me request that you 
will not take my opinions for granted on any subject until 
I have expressed them. They are not always precisely what 
you anticipate,” said Lady Olivia, u and the harp seems to 
me ” 

u I quite agree with your ladyship, that there is a risk,” 
interrupted Miss Marabout, eagerly ; “ it has been frequent- 
ly objected that so many young ladies become quite deformed 
owing to an indiscreet zeal in practicing that instrument to 
excess, — but, as your ladyship knows already, I never lose 
sight of any thing, and have had some very serious conver- 
sations with Lady Fitz-Patrick on the subject, who has 
kindly agreed to bespeak a new harp at Erard’s, on a plan 
of my own. Miss Eleanor would have played you her last 
new overture on the piano-forte, but I perceive this is a 
cabinet one. I almost wonder that your ladyship can exist 
now without a grand piano-forte !” 

“ I dispense with many things that are much more essen- 
tial,” said Lady Olivia, unable to repress a smile “ Quand 
on rVa pas ce que Von aime , — ilfaut aimer ce que Von <z, — you 
will find that a good rule on many occasions, Miss Mara- 
bout, and not so difficult to practice as one would be apt to 
expect.” 

“ Very true !” replied Miss Marabout, u I am glad your 
ladyship is not offended at my taking the liberty of remark- 
ing on your piano. I have the most inveterate habit of 
speaking out my mind on all occasions, — but openness and 
candor, your ladyship will allow, are generally best. Miss 
Fitz-Patrick, my dear ! I see Lady Olivia looking perfectly 
shocked at your elbows ! try to sit more gracefully.” 

“I must again entreat, Miss Marabout, that "my senti- 
ments may never be anticipated,” said Lady Olivia, de- 
cidedly. “ With respect to Eleanor’s mode of sitting, I 
had not remarked it ; but, at all times, I am such an ad- 
mirer of simplicity, that whatever is most natural, appears 
to me best. If a wire were placed in every leaf of a tree 
it would not hang more gracefully than it does by nature, 
and I think we often spoil what we are over anxious to im- 
prove.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


115 


• Your ladyship is quite right,” answered Miss Mara- 
bvut, in her most complaisant tone. “ Miss Fitz-Patrick is 
naturally very graceful, — it would have charmed you last 
night to see her brilliant appearance at Mrs. Fortescue’s ball, 
where my pupil really looked belle comme le jour. The 
whole room was in rapture with her dancing, and several 
of the company stood upon benches to watch her, quite a 
gorge deploy ee with admiration. It was a happy moment to 
Lady Fitz-Patrick, and fully as much so to me, for I must 
do myself the justice to say, that I always identify myself 
completely with my charge during the time I am with her. 
She afterwards spoke French for more than half an hour to 
Count Hepotrosckurtzki, and I scarcely think she made a 
single mistake in grammar. Truly there is very little left 
for Miss Fitz-Patrick to learn now, and she will soon de- 
serve the epithet of 4 La plus savanle des belles , — et la plus 
belle des sav antes' ” 

“ Eleanor, you ought to be covered with blushes,” said 
Lady Olivia. “ Such an unqualified panegyric might do 
for a tomb-stone.” 

“ Certainly none of my pupils ever promised to do me 
more credit,” continued Miss Marabout. “ When I left 
Miss St. John, indeed, she was the most accomplished 
young lady in London ; but I regretted to hear, that, after 
her marriage to Lord Orville, she entirely gave up every 
sort of occupation, except a little embroidery now and then. 
It was a sad mortification to me, and must disappoint her 
husband extremely, as he is distracted about music ; but 
we might have expected it, as really no young ladies ever 
keep up accomplishments after they marry.” 

u That is too much the case, certainly, but not an inva- 
riable rule,” replied Lady Olivia. 11 Did you ever hear 
Dean Swift’s advice to young ladies, that instead of employ- 
ing time in preparing traps for their husbands, they should 
rather try to prepare cages ? for he seems to insinuate that 
those who spend a lifetime on the embellishments of educa- 
tion, will find, when they lay these aside, that nothing else 
remains. I wish much to take this opportunity of saying a 
few words with respect to Eleanor’s education, Miss Mara- 
bout, — you are aware that I have long been accustomed to 
consider her as a child of my own, and perhaps you may 
kindly attend to some suggestions from one who has all the 
affection, though none of the authority, of a parent.” 

Lady Olivia’s eye rested on Eleanor for some time, with 


116 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


a look of tender, but mournful interest. “You are per 
forming a very arduous task, Miss Marabout,” said she, in 
a tone of kindness, “ and I respect the zeal and activity 
with which you have entered upon the duties of instruction, 
according to your own views of what these duties are.” 

Miss Marabout gave a self-satisfied smile, and drew her 
chair closer to Lady Olivia’s, with a look of profound atten- 
tion. 

“ It would have made me happy to see any one placed 
with Eleanor who thought as I do on education, and who 
had as much perseverance and energy as you exert in fol- 
lowing out your own ideas on that subject,” continued La ly 
Olivia, in a conciliating tone ; “ but surely, Miss Marabout, 
if Eleanor were setting out on a long journey, you would 
think her scantily provided, if she had only a ball dress to 
wear ; and the manner in which you are preparing her for 
entering into life, seems quite as deficient, — there appears 
to be nothing done to strengthen her understanding — to 
exercise her faculties, and to improve her disposition. I 
was reading an admirable work lately, on the mental powers, 
in which it was proved that, of those who lose their intel- 
lect entirely, the far greater proportion are devoted to 
sculpture, painting, or music, because in these there is no- 
thing to occupy the mind, — learning languages is also very 
mechanical, for the head is loaded with a quantity of indi- 
gestible dictionaries and vocabularies, while the intellectual 
faculties may be actually smothered.” 

“ Nothing is so much improved by exercise as the mem- 
ory,” interrupted Miss Marabout, “ and too much pains can- 
not be bestowed upon that, which I consider the chief object 
of education.” 

“ It is important certainly, but yet it should be kept in 
subordination to what is still more essential,” replied Lady 
Olivia. “ A very great memory, without being united to 
judgment, usually renders people tedious and prolix in con- 
versation, and at the best it has been well compared to a 
cistern which merely preserves all that is put into it ; — but 
the reasoning and reflecting powers are a spring that can 
never be exhausted, and by directing these aright, they en- 
rich and fertilize the mind with inexhaustible stores of mo- 
ral feeling and steady principle. I should consider it a real 
obligation, Miss Marabout, if you would consent to let 
Eleanor go through a course of reading in English and 
French literature on the same plan which I lately sketched 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


117 


out for Matilda and Miss Porson, and with which they have 
both expressed themselves much pleased.” 

“ I have no doubt of that,” replied Miss Marabout, eva- 
sively, “ and when Miss Eitz-Patrick’s time is a little less 
engrossed, we shall be most happy to avail ourselves of your 
ladyship’s acknowledged judgment and taste. I perfectly 
agree in opinion, that reading is a very great resource, and 
I scarcely dare trust myself with a book, for it is so impos- 
sible to tear me away, when I have once got thoroughly in- 
terested, — Miss Eleanor is precisely the same too, she would 
read from morning till night if I allowed her.” 

“ It would be a subject of interesting discussion with my 
nieces when we meet, if they pursued the same studies,” 
continued Lady Olivia, earnestly ; u I generally read what 
Matilda is engaged in, that we may converse upon the sub- 
ject afterwards, and it would redouble our enjoyment to 
have Eleanor with us, — the two girls are equally dear to 
me, and though their expression of countenance has become 
rather different of late, I still think they resemble each 
other like sisters, and would wish to see them brought up as 
much as possible the same.” 

“ Your ladyship is quite right, — they are very like,” said 
Miss Marabout, absently, u particularly Miss Eleanor.” 

u Of course, the first wish of my heart is with respect to 
their religious principles, Miss Marabout,” continued Lady 
Olivia, in a tone of emotion, which recalled her auditor’s 
wandering attention ; u in the short span of our existence 
here, trifles that immediately surround us, rise into such 
magnitude, that we forget the mental perspective which 
would lead to a comparison of their littleness with the dis- 
tant, but far greater objects of futurity ; and the pages of 
Scripture alone teach an accurate measurement of present 
and coming events, in both of which we are equally to have 
a part. My earnest request then, is, that you would ” 

“ I enter into your ladyship’s views entirely,” interrupted 
Miss Marabout, rather impatiently, “ Cela va sans dire , and 
you may depend on me for neglecting nothing. Miss Elea- 
nor attends church with the greatest regularity, and we have 
a beautifully-bound volume, into which she invariably writes 
down the sermon of the day on Sunday evenings. Your 
ladyship would be quite astonished and pleased to see how 
she appears to have tho whole subject, aux bouts des doigts. 

I think we almost made out six pages of recollections one 
night, and several friends to whom we always show them in 


118 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


confidence, are perfectly astonished. I shall bring the 
manuscript for approval next time we call, and Miss Eleanor 
must take an early opportuuity of repeating her chapters, 
for she knows several already. Whenever she is condemned 
to do a task, I take the opportunity of making my pupil 
learn some verses of the Bible by heart.” 

Lady Olivia colored with vexation, and a pause of some 
moments ensued, during which Miss Marabout sat back on 
her chair with a look of good-humored satisfaction and con- 
scious merit, perfectly convinced that she had impressed on 
her auditor the highest opinion of her judgment and skill 
as an instructress in morals, as well as in accomplishments, 
and Lady Olivia remained for several minutes in perplexity 
and silent meditation. 

u Miss Marabout,” said she at length, in a tone of agita- 
tion and deep solemnity, c - where the eternal interests of one 
so dear to me are at stake, I must not hesitate to explain my 
opinions more fully. The Bible was never intended to be a 
mere task, but its pages are sent as glad tidings, which our 
chief delight should be to read and to understand ; it is im- 
parted for higher purposes than to be made sermons of, 
though these are precious in so far as they enable us to un- 
derstand it better ; but nothing can be more injudicious 
than an early habit of reading the Scriptures without prop- 
erly estimating our own near connection with them as our 
passport into eternity ; and who can reflect upon all they 
contain, without feeling that religion is not a mere ordinary 
lesson to be learnt in an ordinary way, but that it should be 
the business, the pleasure, and the glory of our whole ex- 
istence, to study and to understand them aright ” 

“ What your ladyship says is perfectly true,” replied Miss 
Marabout, vaguely, as she hastily rose to take leave. w I 
am afraid, Miss Eleanor, we have'rather exceeded our time, 
but your aunt’s conversation makes one forget everything 
else. Good morning, Lady Olivia, we have spent a most 
delightful hour here ; I hope to enjoy many opportunities 
of discussing my pupil’s studies, as I shall always be happy 
to have the advice and opinion of so competent a judge: 
mean time, you may rest assured, I shall neglect nothing !” 

“ Before you go, Miss Marabout, let me request you to 
accept this little volume,” said Lady Olivia, presenting her 
with an elegantly-bound copy of Mrs. Hannah More on 
Female Education. “ There is much in it deserving of at 
tention.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


119 


I am happy to receive such a mark of your ladyship’s 
esteem,” replied Miss Marabout, looking exceedingly pleased 
with the unexpected gift, for nothing is more universally 
popular than a small present. 

“ Eleanor !” continued Lady Olivia, affectionately taking 
her niece by the hand, “ I wish to converse with you for a 
single moment alone. My dear girl,” she added, as soon as 
they had reached the dressing-room, “ you need not be told 
of the deep interest with which I watch over every change 
in your character and circumstances, for no mother ever 
loved her own child more than I love you, and therefore you 
cannot but imagine the daily fervent prayers with which I 
continually commend you to God for his best and most per- 
manent blessings. Miss Marabout tells me much about the 
applause you have met with from the world of late ; but, 
dear Eleanor ! I wish for once to remind you, that it is when 
we are of the world, that the world will love its own, but its 
flatteries are dangerous in the extreme ; and when you con- 
sider all the sacrifices of time, and thought, and principle, 
that are exacted from its votaries, we can scarcely wonder 
that the Bible so solemnly warns us of the wo that awaits 
those of whom all men speak well.” 

u You have more need to beware of that wo than any 
one,” said Eleanor, smiling ; u I am always proud of hearing 
your name mentioned, Aunt Olivia, it is so sure to draw 
forth a panegyric.” 

You may depend upon this, dear Eleanor, that the 
surest foundation for happiness in the world is Christian 
humility, which can suffer no mortification nor disappoint- 
ment, believing that whatever we have is above our merits, 
and that the approbation of God is alone permanent or de- 
sirable. I trust that praise or blame from those who merely 
judge superficially, can never now cause me much emo- 
tion ; but you have still that lesson to learn, and it is long 
before we are taught to estimate justly the world’s opinion. 
I can scarcely hope, that you will not be allured on to seek 
admiration, and dazzled by what has already been a snare 
and % a destruction to so many. Even now, Eleanor, I see 
in you an air of self-complacency, which is new to me, and 
far different from the humility and self-abasement of a Chris- 
tian. You are exchanging the praise of others, for that 
peace of mind which might be your own, and which would 
last when all we now behold is passed into oblivion ; but 
this is not the time, Eleanor — I need not speak now. Let 


120 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


me only say, that whatever alterations may happen in you ; 
none can ever take place in my affection. Come to me at 
all times with the same confidence you have ever shown 
me, — let us not be estranged by any circumstances, for I 
know what the enticements of the world are, and I do but 
hope you will yet rise superior to them ; but never imagine 
that I shall meet you in a censorious spirit. Come when 
you will, my dear girl, and believe me, there is no day nor 
hour in which I shall not rejoice to receive you as my own 
child, and always have you nearest to my heart, where Ma- 
tilda and yourself fill up a place that no one else can ever 
now supply.” 

Lady Olivia embraced her niece, and Eleanor was 
moved by the unwonted emotion which she saw in the 
usually calm and untroubled countenance of her aunt, who 
was seldom betrayed into any display of sensibility, when it 
was possible to keep it under control, which gave the more 
interest to every expression of feeling that might be unwill- 
ingly drawn forth. 

When they returned to the drawing-room, Lady Olivia 
and Eleanor were for some moments unobserved, owing to 
the violent altercation which was taking place between Miss 
Marabout and Miss Barbara Neville, who had returned a 
few moments before from her walk. 

u The March of Intellect !” she exclaimed, in a tone of 
angry vehemence, “ the march of folly and nonsense, rather ! 
do you think life was given us for no better purposes than 
to be twirling about like tee-totums, and singing like tea- 
kettles from morning till night ! I don’t care to hear Eleanor 
speak a perfect Babel of languages, if she is to understand 
no more of her mother-tongue than you seem to do, with 
that pie-bald mixture of French and English you always 
talk. Indeed, if my niece has nothing better to say than 
she has now, I think one tongue may serve her purpose well 
enough.” 

“ Lady Fitz-Patrick is perfectly satisfied ; and I am not 
bound to consult the wishes of any one else,” replied Miss 
Marabout, in great irritation ; “ I believe, without vanity, 
that she could never find another so competent to bring up 
a young lady of fashion as myself,- and her ladyship knows 
it. Miss Eleanor will become an ornament to her family 
and to society, under my tuition, and, whether I enjoy it or 
not, I shall deserve the gratitude of all her connections.” 

Miss Mai about swept gracefully out of the room, with a 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


121 


respectful courtesy to Lady Olivia, and an angry glance at 
Miss Neville, whom she had before heard of as a. Method- 
ist, but whom she resolved henceforward, at all hazards, to 
avoid, as well as every one whom she suspected of similar 
sentiments. 

“ Lady Olivia is a most interesting person,” she said to 
Eleanor as they walked homewards. “ That pale alabaster 
countenance, and those exquisitely-chiselled features, are so 
classical, that I could gaze at her for ever. All her move- 
ments are graceful ; and then her voice is music itself. I 
am a great connoisseur in voices, having always been con- 
sidered to have a remarkably melodious one myself ; and 
nothing can be a surer index of the character. Miss Ne- 
ville’s is singularly discordant.” 

‘•Eleanor! Eleanor!” cried Matilda Howard from a 
distance, whose tone of eager animation attracted instant 
attention. “ Pear Eleanor ! surely you are not going 
without a single glance at our garden ! I have been busy 
all the morning weeding the flower-pots, and little thought 
that you were sitting in the house without once asking to 
see me P 

Our heroine held out her hand to Eleanor with an affec- 
tionate smile, when they met ; and she entreated Miss Mar- 
about to return, if it -were only for a single moment. “ 1 
know it would make Eleanor so happy !” said she, anxiously. 

“ Everything is in order and beauty this morning,” con- 
tinued she, turning to her cousin. “ The scarlet geranium 
has grown amazingly since you saw it last ; and the new 
calmia is very thriving. I am sorry to mention that my 
grafted rose tree met with an accident yesterday ; and the 

fusohia is really dying after all our care. But ” 

My dear Matilda, any one would suppose you had a 
large family of children, and were telling me their whole 
history,” exclaimed Eleanor, with a satirical laugh “It 
diverts me to see how keen you still are about our ‘ little 
landed property,’ as we used to call it ; and you really seem 
to be as much a child as ever about it. As for myself, I 
continue to be passionately fond of plants, but would not 
take the trouble you do in rearing them, for the world. If 
it had occurred to me, however, I really would have 
searched in the green-house to investigate whether there 
were any flowers fit to make a bouquet for Lady Montague’s 
ball to-night.” 

“ Then I have luckily anticipated your wishes,” said Ma 

(5 


122 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


tilda, uncovering a brilliant group of the most beautiful 
camellias. “I gathered these this morning, thinking there 
might be some opportunity of sending them to town before 
evening ; but I little thought to have the pleasure of pre- 
senting them to yourself, for we meet so seldom now. 
Eleanor; and it makes a sad blank to me. i dare say you 
lament as much as I do, the £ gay old times,’ when we were 
so merry together ; and now that Miss Marabout has once 
found her way here. I hope she will frequently come back I 
should think no one could ever go away from this dear place 
without wishing to return often.” 

“ Oh, certainly !” replied Eleanor, in a very different tone. 
“ I quite doat upon the little hermitage ! But it will be 
ages before we are able to see it again, as I am engaged for 
several weeks to come ; and really the walk is a serious un- 
dertaking! I would not retrace the two or three steps you 
wish me, for a principality, being already wearied to death.” 

“ How old and frail you are become, Eleanor !” said Ma- 
tilda. u You used formerly to think the business of the day 
only begun, when we had reached Ashgrove. I came here 
this morning long before breakfast, and have been busy ever 
since.” 

“ I blame Miss Porson very much, for allowing such a 
thing !” exclaimed Miss Marabout. “ It is vain to suppose 
that a large bonnet will be any sufficient protection from the 
sun, for before twenty, I prophesy, Miss Howard, that you 
will have the complexion of a gipsy, and an appetite that 
would shame a grouse-shooter.” 

“ How very alarming !” said Eleanor, affectedly. “ I am 
sure you will cure Matilda of her love for gardening, by 
such a threat ; at least mine could not have survived it an 
hour. Well, many thanks for the camellias! What a lib- 
eral supply this is ! But you know, Matilda, I was always 
like the Lord Mayor’s fool, who liked everything that was 
good, and the more the better. Now, good morning, for we 
must homeward plod our way, without putting off any more 
time. Adieu, an revoir /” 

u Farewell, dear Eleanor. It never occurred to me that 
you were in haste, or I should not have caused -this delay ; 
but I have a thousand things to say, so it is lucky you put 
me in mind, or I might have detained you for an hour.” 

“ Or perhaps two,” replied Eleanor, laughing ; “ but it is 
worth while to remain for such a bouquet as this — a bucket 
of flowers, as our gardener calls it. Good bye.” 


OU THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


123 


Mat’ll la stood for some moments looking after Eleanoi. 
with a vague feeling of disappointment. The tears uncon- 
sciously gathered in her eyes, and she returned to the gar- 
den, chilled in heart, and grieved in her inmost spirit ; for 
there was a sense of loneliness amidst these gay and bloom- 
ing scenes which she had never experienced before, and 
which was caused by the irresistible consciousness of her 
cousin’s indifference. 

“ I always thought that Eleanor’s estrangement was en- 
tirely owing to Miss Marabout,” thought she, sorrowfully. 

But there is an alteration in her own feelings, also, for 
which I cannot possibly account. Her manner was cold and 
absent, compared with what it used to be, and she seems to 
take no interest in any thing now ! not even in the recol- 
lection of our former happy days ! What can it be that has 
worked such a change in so short a time! Scarcely a year 
has elapsed since every thought of our hearts was in com- 
mon. But now !” 

Matilda wiped away the falling tear, for she saw Lady 
Olivia and Miss Porson approaching, and she would not for 
the world have breathed a thought to the disparagement 
of Eleanor’s affections, which she yet hoped to see revived. 


124 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


CHAPTER VIII. 


They who know the most, 

Must mourn the deepest o’er the Altai truth, 

The tree of knowledge is not that of life. 

Cowper. 


One morning, Lady Olivia was surprised at. the unusually 
consequential manner in which Miss Neville entered the 
dining room to join her at luncheon, and observed her swal- 
low what she ate with such an extreme degree of vehemence, 
that evidently some emotion of no ordinary hind was work- 
ing within. Miss Neville felt obviously in a state of great 
excitement ; and there could be no doubt it was of an agree- 
able kind, from the triumphant expression which glittered in 
her eye, and pervaded her whole manner. Still, whatever 
might be the subject of her meditation, she seemed disposed 
to make an entire monopoly of it, as she persevered for 
some time in a dignified and unbroken silence. Lady Olivia 
never allowed curiosity to get the better of good breeding ; 
and as no possible conjecture that she could form, seemed 
sufficient to account for the heightened color and excited 
appearance of her companion, she contented herself with 
dropping out occasionally a few leading observations on the 
fineness of the day for walking — on the advantage of the 
wind having so unexpectedly changed to the west, and on 
the beauty of a rainbow which had appeared an hour before. 
Miss Neville for some time preserved silence, being one of 
those sublime characters who must not be suspected of in- 
teresting themselves in trifles, or of ever entering into the 
rudiments of conversation. 

u I think this day has been a mere ague of hot and cold 
fits,” said she at last. “ There has not been much to admire 
in it, but you are always easily pleased.” 

“ A good habit to cultivate !” replied Lady Olivia. “And 
I really believe, that in everything, the less fastidious we 
are, the more it will tend to our own happiness and advan- 
tage ; for you know we have the highest authority for say- 
ing, that 1 contentment is great gain.’ ” 


OR TI1E MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


123 


“1'es! contentment with golliness. But what do you 
say to contentment without it ? I must always speak my 
mind plainly, and cannot omit this opportunity of remark- 
ing. Olivia, tliat in respect to the preaching you hear from 
the pulpit, I do think a little more fastidiousness would be 
very desirable on your part. I have felt it my painful duty,” 
continued Miss Neville, evidently swelling with importance, 
though she assumed a tone of dignified humility; 4 - 1 have 
felt it my painful duty to call on Mr. Arnold this morning, 
and to state the grounds on which I decline sitting under 
his ministry.” 

44 Bid you indeed ! ” exclaimed Lady Olivia, coloring with 
surprise and regret. 41 1 should scarcely have imagined 
such a step could be necessary, or even justifiable.” 

44 It was both the one and the other,” continued Miss 
Neville, in a determined tone. 44 Mr. Arnold could not be 
otherwise than surprised, when Sunday after Sunday elapsed 
without my having appeared in church.” 

44 But possibly he was not aware of your having come to 
reside with me,” replied Lady Olivia, 44 as we have never 
met since your arrival.” 

44 Mr. Arnold knows more about what occurs in his parish 
than you give him credit for.” replied Miss Neville, drawing 
herself up. 14 Let me tell you, he is very well informed of 
our motions, and not particularly pleased to have either Mr 
Harvey or myself going about so much in the neighborhood 
as we have done lately, for I am told it has thinned his con 
gregation already.” 

41 Barbara! ” exclaimed Lady Olivia, in an accent of as- 
tonishment. 4 - What can you mean? ” 

44 No matter at present,” replied Miss Neville, hastily. 
44 But on the subject of my visit, I must do your friend Mr. 
Arnold the justice to say, he conducted himself with great 
propriety on the occasion. I spoke to him for more than 
half an hour without stopping, and could have gone on as 
much longer, but he honestly confessed that I had got 
beyond his depth completely.” 

44 1 dare say you had,” said Lady Olivia, ironically ; 44 we 
are all beyond our depth, Barbara, when we attempt to 
penetrate too far into the philosophy of Christianity, and i i 
nothing do I see more plainly the wisdom of Him who 
adapted the Scriptures to our use, than in their divine 
simplicity. St. Paul desired only to know Christ and Him 
crucified, but it i> such preaching ns his that is always m 


120 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


distasteful to the generality of hearers. The time of the 
millennium, instantaneous assurance, universal pardon, mod- 
ern miracles, and all your favorite topics of discussion, 
involve such complicated and useless controversies, that if 
safety depended on comprehending them fully, our path 
would be more difficult and precarious than if we had to 
cross Mahomet’s bridge of a single hair.” 

“ Say what you please ! but I would not have let Mr. 
Arnold off so easily, if he had not mentioned an indispen- 
sable engagement to visit one of his congregation who is 
dying,” continued Miss Neville. “ I ended by hinting that 
his visit would be of little use without a change in his doc- 
trine ; but though I spoke to him so plainly, we parted on 
good terms.” 

u That proves his temper at least to be truly Christian,” 
said Lady Olivia, “ and by their fruits ye shall know them.” 

“ Very true,” replied Miss Neville, abruptly, while she 
rose to leave the room. u I must now write an account of 
this controversy for Miss Rachel Stodart and Mr. Harvey, 
whom it will interest exceedingly. Mr. Arnold said a few 
words at parting, about his desire to act and teach according 
to the light that was given him, and added some very com- 
mon-place sentences to myself on the necessity of being 
humble and teachable, much in the style of what you would 
have said on similar occasions, and then he hurried away 
before I could fix the time for our next interview ; but I 
am not done with him yet !’’ 

11 Since you decline hearing my venerable friend in the 
pulpit, how can he be expected to hear you elsewhere,” said 
Lady Olivia ; u you ought at least to attend him in church 
next Sunday, after his extraordinary patience and forbear- 
ance to-day.” 

“ I have told you once for all, what I hinted very plainly 
to himself this morning,” said Miss Neville, il that if Mr. 
Arnold obstinately adheres to his old opinions, after all I 
have said to him, he can expect no countenance from me,' — • 
or mine.” 

“ Including Mr. Harvey, I suppose,” replied Lady Oli- 
via ; u but Barbara, in my opinion it remains to be proved 
where the obstinacy lies in this case. It is always the most 
positive person that accuses another of being so, because the 
only way to live at peace with those who are themselves 
obstinate, is to yield every opinion to them at once. You 
remind me at present of the Duchessc de la Ferte, who said. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


127 


' Je ne trouve que moi qui ait toujours raison .’ Mr. Arnold 
could bring a thousand names, venerable from their anti 
quity, their learning, and their acknowledged piety, to sane* 
tion his doctrines, but where is there a single precedent for 
those on which you differ from him.” 

“ I do not go upon precedents like a lawyer,” said Miss 
Neville, “ but Miss Rachel Stodart and I are both of opinion, 
that these are the latter days, when we live under the 
radiance of a clearer light than was ever revealed before.” 

“ There is no warrant for our expecting new revelations 
or new apostles,” said Lady Olivia ; 11 let us rather grate- 
fully and reverently devote ourselves to the contemplation 
of what they have already taught, and when we converse 
together, Barbara, it is my earnest request that we may, if 
possible, avoid all vain speculation, and keep to the essen- 
tials of Christian faith and conduct.” 

“ Then we need never converse at all, for the very subjects 
that you term visionary, are those which can alone be inter- 
esting to elevated minds,” replied Miss Neville, in a deter- 
mined tone. “ I would rather never speak on religion at 
all, than be confined to the mere rudiments of the subject as 
you propose. I had hoped to enlarge your views, but now 
you close them up entirely.” 

“ Must I consider myself completely excommunicated, 
Barbara,” replied Lady Olivia, smiling ; “ surely there are 
many things in which we have one common interest, con- 
nected with a future world, as well as with the ordinary 
affairs of life, to form materials for our conversation.” 
u The less that these last occupy our thoughts and dis 
cussions the better,” replied Miss Neville, austerely. “ In- 
deed w r e differ so entirely upon every subject, and you see 
all my opinions with^sueh a jaundiced eye, that the only 
way to preserve peace between us will soon be, never to 
converse at all.” 

u But, my dear Barbara, I could not consider myself at 
peace with any near connection, who was not on terms of 
familiar and confidential intercourse with me,” said Lady 
Olivia, kindly, it is a debt of nature that we owe to each 
other, and there are few things I would not sacrifice to faci- 
litate it, on any subject but your own peculiar opinions. 
We might as well attempt to walk without touching the 
ground, as to live in the world without friendship or inter- 
est in it. and you will find no one more sincerely anxious 
for your happiness, both now and hereafter, than myself.” 


128 


MODE RN ACCOM PLISHMENT8, 


•‘Still our intercourse must inevitably be very genera 
when it is confined within the contracted limits you pro- 
pose,” replied Miss Neville, “ and my warmest interest is 
reserved for those with whom I can have a sympathy of 
views and sentiments ” 

“ Then you differ from the early Christians,” said Lady 
Olivia ; “none of the apostles or their cotemporaries showed 
that exclusiveness in religious society which we see in the 
present day. Some sects in modern times seem almost as 
if they would wish for a city to themselves, or to go out of 
the world entirely, which St. Paul notices as an absurdity 
to which he gives no sanction.” 

“ Well,” answered Miss Neville, “ you may be very glad 
to take part with us yet.” 

“ Barbara,” replied Lady Olivia, u I believe there are 
many amongst your friends who are sincere, though mis- 
taken, and with them I would much rather be classed, than 
with those who are living in presumptuous indifference to 
the immediate presence, and the impending judgments of 
an all-powerful and an all-seeing God. You may each be 
saved in spite of your false opinions, though not in conse- 
quence of them ; and you need scarcely be assured that you 
have the benefit of my prayers, as sincerely and fervently 
as I hope to have yours. We both believe each other in 
error, and I should be sorry that you thought me censorious 
when I wish to be candid, in pointing out where w T e differ. 
I consider time to be worse than wasted, in judging another 
where I have so much for which to judge myself, and the 
hour is not far distant when we shall stand before the 
searching eye of God, and the mistakes or offences of our 
neighbors will be then as insignificant to us as they ought 
to be now, for our own sins will stand in fearful array 
against us, to the exclusion of every thought connected with 
others, — yet, white our day of probation lasts, I cannot but 
feel anxious for the safety of all I love, exactly in propor- 
tion as I do love them, — and you, Barbara, must be an 
object of peculiar interest to me, as the near connection of 
those we both hove loved, and shall never look upon again. 
There are few on earth now to sympathize in my past sor- 
rows : but you, who had a portion in them yourself, must 
still remember them with sympathy and regret. It is often 
a load upon my heart, in hours of solitary grief, to feel as 
if I alone were the depositary of their memory, and that the 
names which were once so dear and familiar to me. are never 


Oil THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


r o v heard on the earth. My heart clings to every human 
bjuig who knew them, and it appears that I might still find 
part of my former happiness in talking of the days that are 
past. I teel, Barbara, as if you were the only living person 
who could share those precious remembrances, and by look- 
ing back with me on the past, and looking forward to the 
future, alleviate the mournful sadness of the present hour.” 

Lady Olivia held out her hand affectionately to Miss 
Neville, and her voice deepened into a tone of melody and 
softness while she looked at her companion for a glance of, 
sympathy, or an expression of tenderness ; but sighing with 
deep regret, her eye was instantly averted. Barbara’s fea- 
tures were hard, and her manner was impenetrably cold ; sc 
that, though she betrayed a transient emotion when ad- 
dressed in such touching terms, she instantly subsided, and 
allowed Lady Olivia to take her hand without any tempo- 
rary relaxation of her usual reserve ; it was a cold, stiff, 
formal hand, and it dropt at her side when Lady Olivia re- 
linquished it, almost as listlessly and indifferently as when 
it was taken. 

” I am a great enemy to the indulgence of useless grief,” 
she said, in a sensible, measured tone “ Nothing could ex- 
ceed my sorrow at the time when we were so tryingly and 
unexpectedly afflicted, but I have been wonderfully sup- 
ported since ; and you were thought to have endured it all 
with such fortitude at the time, that I wonder you have not 
got over it better. We almost betray a want of submission 
to the will of Providence, by treasuring up grief to such an 
excess, for you know all our sorrow can never bring back 
those we have lost.” 

“ If it could, my tears would have restored them long 
ago,” said Lady Olivia, is a tone of heart-broken sorrow. 
“ But let it still remain between myself and my GoJ, for in 
Him I have ever found my only consolation, and there alone 
let me still continue to seek for it, desiring nothing for my- 
self but that God’s glory may be promoted in me, and by 
me, whatever Ilis will may ordain. And now, Barbara, 
when will you be disposed to go with me and return Lady 
Evans’ visit.” 

“ I do not mean to call on Lady Evans at any time,” re- 
plied Miss Neville, dryly; “she can never be a friend of 
mine, and I have no time to cultivate more acquaintances.” 

“ Can you be serious ?” said Lady Olivia, in an accent of 
real surprise. “ Consider. Barbara ; Lady Evans was the 

6 * 


130 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


friend of 3 our mother, and is now upwards of eighty. She 
is a kind-hearted, well-meaning person, and made an effort, in 
the midst of deep anxiety and sorrow, to come and welcome 
you into her neighborhood. Let her be what you please as 
to difference of sentiments, but even in this case the Bible 
should be your guide, for it tells you to ‘ be courteous’ as 
well as to be pitiful.” 

•• Life is too short for all the ceremonies you would burden 
it with,” interrupted Miss Neville, in a tone of superior 
wisdom; “if I were to call for all the ‘ kind hearted, well- 
moaning’ old ladies in the world, my visiting list would be 
most unmanageably extensive. No ; my sympathy and at- 
tention must be reserved for those on whom they are well 
bestowed, and besides, I am already engaged to spend the 
morning with dear Miss Bachel Stodart, when Mr. Harvey 
has promised to call, and give us an account of his visita- 
tion to the condemned cell. He says that poor Butler is in 
a most delightful state of mind, and that nothing can be 
more edifying than his whole conversation and deportment, 
for the exhortations and instructions of our dear Christian 
friend have elevated him quite above his situation, almost 
into a state of rapture.” 

“ Do you mean Butler who murdered his wife in so atro- 
cious a manner last month ?” inquired Lady Olivia ; “ I 
trust he has indeed most deeply repented of his aggravated 
guilt ; but surely, Barbara, the terrors of an awakened con- 
science would be more suitable to his awful state than such 
joys as you describe. Is there no danger in building up at 
once the hopes of a being who has so much to fear ? It is 
but a few weeks since his hands were imbrued in blood : and 
though there are no bounds to God’s mercy in Christ, when 
a sinner comes to him in a spirit of penitence, yet pardon 
should be sought with humility by all, and especially b} r 
such as have flagrantly broken through eveiy law, human 
and divine.” 

“I suspect you are still a mere legalist,” replied Miss 
Neville, “for in my estimation Butler’s sins are now as if 
he never had committed them. He is, and he feels quite 
sure of his salvation, and that very certainty is a sufficient 
evidence of the fact.” 

“ I trust Butler is indeed a true penitent,” replied Lady 
Olivia ; “ but there are two kinds of sorrow for sin, godly 
sorrow, and the sorrow of the world. How do you know 
which of these two is the feeling of this unhappy criminal 't 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 131 

Does lie hate sin, or does he merely hate the punishment of 
sin ? You are aware that without holiness no man shall see 
the Lord, and repentance for past sin is like the wedding 
garment, which was essential to the acceptance of a guest, 
though not the cause of his admission. In the case of this 
unfortunate criminal, I should fear, from what you say, that 
penitence had not been sufficiently inculcated, for the Scrip- 
tures tell us to 4 repent and be converted,’ showing the 
precedence that the one must have before the other.” 

‘ 1 Dear Mr. Harvey would soon set you right about that” 
observed Miss Neville. u I wish you would accompany me 
this morning; he said there were some most interesting re- 
marks of Butler’s to be communicated on the occasion, and 
desired as many of our friends to be present as possible.” 

u What strong temptation there seems in all this to vanity 
or hypocrisy on the part of poor Butler,” said Lady Olivia ; 
;£ do you see no danger, Barbara, in his being made an ob- 
ject of so much observation and interest? The clergy of 
Edinburgh visit him regularly, as their duty directs ; the 
chaplain of the jail is a man of sound and enlightened 
piety ; surely such incessant attention from qualified instruc- 
tors must be sufficient without his being brought so prom- 
inently into notice by the officiousness of strangers.” 

“Better any strangers than those who are strangers to 
sound doctrine,” muttered Miss Neville. 

“ It has often been a matter of serious consideration to 
me, Barbara,” continued Lady Olivia, “how much the natu 
ral love of distinction in man must be flattered by the sud- 
den celebrity to which even the worst criminal stands forth, 
who is eminent for nothing but the greatness of his crime. 
He has perhaps lived a life of obscurity and want, till by 
some hideous act of atrocity he becomes the temporary hero 
of the day. Every newspaper is then thought insipid that 
lias not a column devoted to him ; his most trifling actions 
become objects of intense and universal interest ; we are 
told how he eats, and drinks, and talks, and sleeps. He is 
visited by the most eminent Christians ; he is assured of 
the certainty of future blessedness. When the day of ex- 
ecution arrives, crowds assemble to witness his conduct and 
to admire his heroism. The sympathy of thousands is ex 
cited, — all gaze in breathless expectation to hear the least 
sound of his voice, and he dies like a martyr rather than a 
criminal. You know, Barbara, there is a degree of vanity 
in our nature which the approach of death itself pan scarcely 


132 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


overpower, and if ever there be a temptation to hypocrisy 
or an occasion when hypocrisy is dangerous to the salvation 
of all, it is on such occasions as these, when a multitude be- 
holds the greatest of criminals almost canonized as a saint; 
— the least relic of him is carefully treasured; — the very 
rope on which he was suspended becomes an object of in- 
estimable value, — and we saw, on a late occasion, that when 
the offender became sufficiently notorious, he was finally re- 
presented on the stage. Consider, Barbara, how many 
hundreds are longing for celebrity ; how willingly men will 
sacrifice their lives for fame, and that not a few would 
rather be thus known for their crimes, than not known at 
all.” 

u You are no competent judge of this subject without hear- 
ing all that Mr. fJarvey declares,” replied Miss Neville hast- 
ily. u Miss llachcl Stodart thinks that upon that point lie 
is quite unanswerable ; but it is very strange that on no sub- 
ject in the world do we ever agree ; it seems as if you had 
really formed a resolution, that nothing I think, say, or do, 
can possibly be right.” 

“ The practical improvement of all I remarked, Barbara, 
was merely intended to be, that some of the sympathy you 
lavish on this unfortunate criminal, might be bestowed on 
our good old friend Lady Evans, and that I still wish to 
spare her the mortification of not having her visit returned 
when you must pass by her door at knyt rate,” said Lad}* 
Olivia placidly ; “ but Barbara, do not brwig me in guilty of 
a factious opposition to your opinions, as I assure you it is 
always an effort of principle over inclination to assert my 
own so decidedly as I have done to-day.” 

Miss Neville hastily left the room without reply, and there 
was an empressement in her manner of closing the door which 
indicated a storm within. She passed Lady Evans’ gate 
without the least transient thought of entering, and tri- 
umphantly proceeded to confide in the sympathizing bosom 
of “ dear” Miss Bachel Stodart, how much she had to put 
up with from Lady Olivia, and how painful were the depend- 
ence and poverty which obliged her to associate constantly 
with a mind so uncongenial and so unenlightened. 

u Argument is of no avail,” said Miss Neville bitterly, 
u for. she seems to have made up a bundle ol opinions for her- 
self, which are the standard on every occasion ; they are 
such as we have exploded ages ago ; but she has a plausible 
way of supporting them that makes it difficult to reply, so T 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


133 


have given up the point, and shall say not one word more 
except on the most ordinary topics.” 

Lady Olivia, the unconscious object of these animadver- 
sions, proceeded, after Miss Neville’s departure, to enjoy 
her own solitary walk towards the village, where her errands 
of mercy and benevolence may be left in the privacy to 
which she always consigp^d them, within her own breast, 
where charity reigned in its most extended sense, with a 
power which time seemed to increase, and to which the lapse 
of years only added fresh energy, as it cheered her with the 
near prospect of that sacred rest to which for herself she 
looked forward, as i; the twilight of her sorrows and the dawn 
of future bliss,” — that period when faith should be swallowed 
up in sight, and hope in enjoyment. 


134 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


CHAPTER IX. 


One would imagine ty the common modes of female education, that life con- 
sisted of one universal holiday, and that the only contest was, who should best be 
enabled to excel in the sports and games that were to be celebrated on it. 

Hannah More. 


About two years subsequent to the commencement of our 
story, the time was at hand when Lady Fitz-Patrick and 
Lady Howard were to estimate their success in educating 
their respective daughters, by that only test which either 
of them considered at all important, — the applause with 
which the world would hail their debut, and the splendid 
settlement which each might finally secure in life. 

Lady Howard, as a measure preparatory to the approach- 
ing winter, shut up Matilda more carefully than ever from 
public view, that she might at last raise the curtain with 
more effect; but, on the contrary, Lady Fitz-Patrick blaz- 
oned forth Eleanor at every party where there was any ex- 
cuse for producing “ a mere school-girl, who was not come 
out yet.” She was taken to concerts, that her taste in music 
might be improved ; to small parties, because they were 
small parties; to balls, because Lady So and so made such 
a point of seeing her there ; to the theatre, because she ought 
to know by sight all the most celebrated actors of her ow 1 
day ; and to exhibitions, that she might be exhibited herself. 
Eleanor’s bust was sculptured in marble, and pronounced by 
enraptured amateurs to be perfectly classical ; her minature 
was taken by Mrs. Robertson, and thought to be the best 
painting she had ever executed, and Lady Fitz-Patrick be- 
came quite intoxicated with the enthusiasm her daughter 
excited, especially because much of it reverted on her own 
head, owing to the complaisance with which her visitors 
mingled their admiration of Eleanor with herself. 

u It seems the strangest thing to me having a grown-up 
daughter,” said she, pulling out her long dark ringlets, and 
laughing, to display her still beautiful teeth ! 

“ If we had not seen her mother formerly,” said Old Sir 
Colin Fletcher, bowing profoundly, u I must have pro 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


135 


nounced Miss Fitz-Patrick the greatest beauty that I ever 
beheld.” 

This was exactly suited to the taste of her to whom it 
was addressed, and the fame of Eleanor’s brilliant appear- 
ance became more an object of interest in Lady Fitz-Pa- 
trick’s estimation than ever. “ She is very like what I was ” 
she remarked, with a glance of admiration at her own grace- 
ful figure in an opposite mirror. 

“ Or, rather say, she is like what you are,” replied Sir 
Colin ; u I could scarcely have believed you were more than 
her elder sister.” 

“ Say my younger sister at once, when you are about it,” 
interrupted Eleanor in an angry tone ; u it is best, as Amer- 
icans say, to go the whole hog , if you are sure of its being 
palatable.” 

A prolific subject of irritation between Lady Fitz-Pa- 
trick and her daughter had lately sprung, from the former 
insisting that Eleanor should always be dressed nearly the 
same as herself, and her spirits were often elated for a whole 
day, after some short-sighted person had accidentally mis- 
taken her, through the medium of a black chantilly veil, 
for her young and lovely daughter. Such little contretemps 
were invariably repeated to every visitor during the follow- 
ing day, with a few faint disparagements of her claim to such 
a compliment ; and though there were many complaisant 
friends ready to protest that it was a most natural error, 
which could cause no surprise to any one, Eleanor was far 
from enjoying the joke, and observed the whole scene with 
a look of grave contemptuous displeasure. 

Notwithstanding all the accomplishments which Eleanor 
had so laboriously acquired, she became the wretched prey 
to ennui and idleness whenever any accidental circumstance 
threw her, during a single hour, on her own resources for 
occupation. 

Though Miss Marabout continued nominally in the ca- 
pacity of governess, she understood her own interest too 
well not to have long since been transformed into a mere 
companion and confidante ; so that, except walking out with 
her pupil every day, in the most frequented streets and gar- 
dens, she scarcely took any charge of her whatever. Unless 
Eleanor had some party in immediate prospect, at which 
she was expected to perform, she never touched her piano- 
forte or harp, as a means of private entertainment. Sir 
Richard who was passionately fond of music, seldom heard 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


106 


the moat distant sound of her instrument, which she always 
closed hastily at his approach, because his favorite compo- 
sers, were Handel and Correlli, whom she had long since 
condemned to oblivion as antediluviaus. whose compositions 
she pronounced it a penance to play: Her portfolio was 
already filled with a sufficient collection of drawings for 
exhibition to all visitors, and in fact, Eleanor knew that 
without the assistance of a master, she could not have finished 
any more. Her select library of French. Italian, and Ger- 
man authors, had been conspicuously arranged round the 
table, from whence they were never discomposed ; and a 
large piece of unfinished embroidery was frequently dis- 
played as the result of her labor, though it never seemed to 
make any progress ; her silks were all entangled, — her 
pattern was los v , — but nothing could be more beautifully 
begun. 

The fable of the hare and the tortoise was nearly illus- 
trated in the relative progress of Eleanor and Matilda’s ed- 
ucation, for the latter had almost equalled her brilliant 
cousin in some lighter accomplishments, in which she really 
delighted as a relaxation from more serious occupations : to 
Eleanor nothing was a recreation, because her whole time 
was spent in seeking for it, and therefore, her mind never 
knew the luxury of resting from labor*; but Matilda’s day, 
on the contrary, was frequently varied from quiet study and 
intense application to the free enjoyment of her naturally 
buoyant spirits, so that what was the business of Eleanor’s 
life, formed only the amusement of hers ; every natural en- 
joyment, and every natural feeling, retained their youthful 
freshness in the character of Matilda, but with Eleanor all 
her original disposition was extinguished, and the candor 
and sensibility of youth were exchanged for a studied affec- 
tation of both. 

Matilda Howard had grown up a Christian in the most 
beautiful sense of that character, — active in duty ; con- 
tented in spirit ; seeking with unwearied assiduity to pro- 
mote the cause of godliness iu all, and testifying to even 
the most censorious observers, by the whole tenor of her 
conduct and conversation, that her thoughts were habitu 
ally under the direction of that Spirit to whom she looked 
on every occasion for guidance and comfort : there was 
no distinction in Matilda’s mind between the faith and the 
practice of the gospel, for they seemed to her as inseparably 
united as the light and the warmth of a fire, which canuol 


Oii THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


137 


exist at all without producing both. Her almost daily walk 
was n >w extended to reach Lady Olivia’s residence and as 
Matilda and Miss Porson cheerfully traced their steps along 
the quiet and secluded road which led to Ashgrove, they 
beguiled the distance with so many interesting subjects of 
discussion, that they were scarcely conscious of fatigue, and 
the cordial, animated reception they invariably met with at 
last, would have more than rewarded them for a pilgrimage 
of twice the distance. There was not a plant in Lady Oli- 
via’s garden which had not a place in Matilda’s affection ; 
there was not a family in the neighboring village in whom 
she was not warmly interested, and to her willing ear, Lady 
Olivia imparted all her projected improvements, all her 
plans of beneficence, and even all her sorrows. 13y the sad- 
ness of the countenance the heart is made better, and the 
tears which Matilda occasionally shed over the afflictions of 
one she loved so well, gave a deeper tone to her sensibility, 
and added a new grace to the expression of her interesting 
countenance. 

That resemblance which had always subsisted between 
the two cousins still remained in their features, which could 
not have appeared in more beautiful symmetry and propor- 
tion had they been chiselled by Chantry or Canova ; but 
there reigned a dignified repose in the expression of Ma- 
tilda’s eyes, which was wanting in those of Eleanor, who 
seemed too incessantly occupied about the sensation she 
expected to excite, not to exhibit a look of consciousness 
whenever any one happened to glance at her, and a fidgety 
restlessness of manner, if ever she remained for a moment 
overlooked ; in short, Eleanor always so evidently canvassed 
for a:imiration and applause, that each individual felt lie 
had something to give or withhold at his own caprice, which 
was essential to her vanity, and therefore she becahie, in a 
manner, dependent on every body’s humor. Matilda, on the 
contrary, had her attention habitually directed to a plain 
path of' duty, and pursued it steadily, without ever glancing 
round to watch whether the applause of others would follow 
what she considered it right to do. Her spirits had thus a 
natural lightness which was wanting in Eleanor’s, who felt 
so anxious to be admired for liveliness and vivacity of ex- 
pression and manner, that her spirits were often forced and 
affected in company, which could not but be obvious to all 
who had any tact in observing the disposition and motives of 
those whom they met in society. The characteristic of 


138 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


Eleanor’s conversation when in her liveliest spirits was wit — - 
and of Matilda’s, humor , Eleanor’s wit became often as 
brilliant and startling as an explosion of fire-works, and 
equally shortlived; but Matilda’s vivacity enlivened like 
sunshine, without astonishing or dazzling those with whom 
she conversed, and it was never exhausted. Eleanor de- 
lighted at parties to collect a little coterie of her own, in a 
remote corner of the room, and to fancy herself an object 
of envy to all who were excluded, when they gained a dis- 
tant glimpse of the mirth and diversion which prevailed 
around her ; but the few times that Matilda had been in 
company she generally found some one individual amongst 
Eleanor’s despised “ detrimentals,” whose conversation was 
far more interesting, and more truly entertaining, than the 
“ all laugh and no joke” of the circle beside her cousin. 

It was about this time that Lady Fitz-Patrick one morn- 
ing summoned Eleanor into her dressing-roonl, with the 
look of one who has something of great importance to com- 
municate. 

“ My dear girl,” she said, “ I have this moment heard a 
most interesting and extraordinary piece of riews, which 
very nearly concerns you, — at least — by the w^ay, I must 
not say that, for I am forbid to tell, — but — in short, it may 
very probably be a circumstance of the utmost conse- 
quence.” 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed Eleanor eagerly, whilst all the in- 
numerable wishes and unreasonable hopes she had ever in- 
dulged, darted at once into her thoughts, and seemed on the 
point of being accomplished. “ Are we going to London at 
last ! or have you fixed to give the fancy-ball that I asked 
for ? or do you intend ” 

“ Stop, stop, Eleanor, not so fast,” cried Lady Fitz-Pa- 
trick, laughing ! “ pray moderate your anticipations, or you 
may be as sadly disappointed with all I am allowed to tell, 
as the old woman in the fairy tale, who expected to have 
every desire of her heart gratified, and only got a yard of 
black-pudding after all.” 

“ What is it then ?” said Eleanor, impatiently ; i: you 
know I can bear anything rather than suspense.” 

“ Patience, my dear girl ! We have had letters this morn- 
ing from my uncle Sir Philip, mentioning that he and Lady 
Barnard are to return home from Italy by the next packet,” 
said Lady Fitz-Patrick. u He has lived abroad for his 
health, and for the indulgence cf his enthusiasm about paint 


Oil THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


139 


ings and music, ever since you were born, and I never ex- 
pected to get a glimpse of him again, as they were both so 
old, and this foggy climate destroys him ; but since the 
melancholy event of their only son being killed in a duel at 
Paris, Sir Philip has taken a sudden longing to see me. 1 
was always his favorite niece, and other family circum- 
stances which cannot be explained induce them both to 
venture here.” 

“ And this is all the mighty event !” exclaimed Eleanor 
in a tone of angry disappointment. u merely that a respect- 
able old gentleman and his wife are bringing home their 
bones to be buried in the family vault. I cannot trace how 
it very much concerns me, unless they are generous enough 
to bring us some splendid presents from abroad. You 
know, mamma, I am sadly in want of ornaments.” 

u Your mind may be set at rest without delay on that 
score, as they will certainly bring nothing, and you cannot 
feel very deserving of gifts or trinkets if you experience so 
little pleasure at the prospect of seeing my nearest relations, 
Eleanor,” replied Lady Fitz-Patrick, with a frown of tran- 
sient displeasure on her usually good-humored countenance. 
“ But, my dear girl, I must explain that it really is my 
anxious wish you should do everything imaginable to fasci- 
nate Sir Philip. He has heard volumes about you in my 
letters, which have been filled with such favorable accounts 
of your appearance and accomplishments, that he already 
calls you ‘ la 'petite Corinne ,’ and I am most anxious you 
should justify the appellation. It is of more consequence 
than you can possible imagine, and particularly important 
to eclipse Matilda Howard in his estimation.” 

u It would be no great stretch of partiality to take it for 
granted that I shall certainly succeed, if that be all you de- 
sire,” replied Eleanor, conceitedly. u I wish we were more 
equal competitors, that our rivalship 'might have some in- 
terest ; Matilda and I are scarcely society for each other 
now, we are so totally different, and have not two ideas in 
common. I almost fancy that Aunt Olivia must intend hgr 
to take orders, she is teaching her to be so very good, and 
all that sort of thing.” 

“ Well, my dear, luckily it will terrify Sir Philip ; and 
he is rather prejudiced against her already, having always 
disliked my sister herself for her pedantry and blue-stock- 
ingitiveness said Lady Fitz-Patrick “ My uncle is quite 
a beau of the old school, and was the greatest connoisseur 


140 


M ODE RX AC COM P LISI1MENTS, 


of beauty in bis day, — lie will know, at the first glance, if 
your features are the breadth of a lmir out of perfect pro- 
portion ; and he will listen, entranced with ecstacy, to your 
music, from noon till midnight.” 

u But what sort of taste can a man be supposed to have 
who is eighty at least ? sans teeth, saus eyes,” exclaimed 
Eleanor contemptuously. “ I really wish there were some 
more interesting object to gain, and I should exert myself 
to oblige you with greater energy and pleasure.” 

“ Perhaps, Eleanor, if you knew my real motive,” replied 
Lady Fitz Patrick mysteriously, “it might not appear such 
a very trifling object to please Sir Philip.” 

“ I guess, mamma, he means to make me his heiress,” 
cried Eleanor eagerly. u Now I am sure by your face that 
I really have accidentally been my own fortune-teller.” 

“ Nonsense, Eleanor,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick evasively, 
“ your aunts and I are nearer relations than you, if my uncle 
has anything to leave.” 

“ If he has !” replied Eleanor, laughing. “ I thought you 
had agreed with Sir Philip long ago that I was to have 
married his son, had lie lived, and you know I could not 
have abated a farthing of £10,000 a-year, so he must be 
rich, — and looking upon me as in a manner widow of that 
favorite son, I am in fact his nearest connection, and ought 
to be provided for accordingly.” 

u You are not very far wrong, to confess the truth, Elea- 
nor,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, smiling. “ Sir Richard and I 
had agreed that it would be prudent not to mention these 
expectations in case of their turning your head, and ending 
in disappointment ; but I never could keep a secret in my 
life, and here it is come out in spite of myself. Sir Philip’s 
agent, who brought me letters this morning, took the op 
portunity of dropping a hint, that on the death of Frederick 
Barnard, a will was immediately executed in my favor, and 
as your brother is well provided for already, the estates are 
all left in remainder to you ; but Sir Philip has since enter- 
tained some idea of dividing his fortune, making Matilda a 
co-heiress with you ; and it is in order to see you both, that 
he is now cn chemin for England.” 

“ Oh mamma ! how could you conceal this news a single 
instant, for every moment I was in ignorance was a moment 
of ecsticy lost,” exclaimed Eleanor, all radiant with joy. 
“ What splendid jewels 1 shall get — what equipages — wha> 
horses — what crowds of a 'mirers ” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


141 


“ Not admirers worth having, if they seek only what Sir 
Philip can give you,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick gravely. 
“Young ladies are not very enviable, iny dear girl, when 
any motive beyond their own attractions causes them to re- 
ceive attention in public ; and an heiress is generally much 
to be pitied, she occupies such a false position in society.” 

“ I shall suffer with pleasure tonics les embarms des 
rickesses replied Eleanor, laughing. u The brightest jewel 
is always improved by being set in gold. But let me fly to 
tell Miss Marabout the glorious news.” ^ 

Nearly at the same time Lady Howard imparted the in- 
telligence of Sir Philip and Lady Barnard’s return to hei 
daughter Matilda, but without attaching to that event any 
thing like the same importance or pleasure that had been 
expressed by her sister. 

u How glad you must be I” said Matilda, with animation. 
“ I cherish quite an old-fashioned love of relations, having 
never known any yet whom I could not be attached to ; and 
already I feel my heart warming towards poor Sir Philip, 
who has suffered such severe affliction. His son’s death 
must have been a dreadful blow ; and what pleasure I shall 
feel in consoling one who needs sympathy so much.” 

u Why, really ! to say the honest truth, it will be rather 
a bore, with all my numerous engagements,” replied Lady 
Howard, peevishly. “ Sir Philip expects prodigious atten- 
tion, and Lady Barnard is by this time deaf beyond assist- 
ance from all the trumpets that were ever invented, besides 
being so infirm she cannot stir without support. I quite 
dread the thoughts of it. Sir Philip is so cxigcant with his 
love of music and painting, that altogether the pair will be 
a perfect oppression ; but d propos of arts and sciences, Ma- 
tilda, I am extremely desirous that Sir Philip should be 
as much pleased with your accomplishments and appearance 
as with Eleanor’s ; and I make it my particular request that 
you will do more than is possible to equal, or to excel your 
eousin.” 

u Why should there be any rivalship, mamma ?” asked 
Matilda, with surprise. “We shall both, of course, exert 
our utmost to please Sir Philip, and I shall be quite happy 
to assist poor Lady Barnard, who seems by your account to 
stand in so much need of comfort.” 

“I do not care about Lady Barnard at all !” said Lady 
Howard, impatiently; “but there are reasons of conse- 


142 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


quence why Sir Francis and I are both anxious about the 
impression you make on Sir Philip.” 

l 1 hat is quite a sufficient inducement for every effort,’ 
replied Matilda; “but consider, mamma, how impossible it 
is for me to have a chance of eclipsing Eleanor, especially 
in the estimation of such a person as you describe Sir Philip 
Barnard to be.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” answered Lady Howard, bit- 
terly ; “ but if I had conceived the most distant idea of such 
news as we have heard to-day, no power on earth should 
have induced me, not all the persuasions of Lady Olivia, 
nor your own entreaties, to have retained Miss Porson.” 

' “ Oh ! do not say so, my dear mother !” exclaimed Matil- 
da, with unusual earnestness ; “ you will make me too eager 
for success. There could not be a stronger motive than the 
desire to please you ; but I shall feel additional anxiety now 
on account of Miss Porson’s credit ; for if you do not find 
me in all respects what might be expected, the fault is far 
from being hers. The unwearied pains she takes with me 
would really astonish you ; and I consider it one of the hap 
piest circumstances in my whole life to have been placed 
under her charge.” 

“ Quite an oration !” said Lady Howard, “ and very much 
in the school of ‘ aunt Olivia but you might resemble 
w r orse people, Matilda! so I shall let it pass for the present; 
but pray, my dear, never make me a ‘ set speech’ again. 
Nothing can be a greater mortification than to observe how 
Eleanor outshines you in accomplishments, for these are, in 
fact, the only criterion by which a girl’s education is ever 
appreciated. You will find in all societies, Matilda, that 
strangers will feel privileged, in half an hour’s acquaintance, 
to put you through a perfect catechism upon your acquire- 
ments — ‘ Are you musical, Miss Howard ? Do you play on 
the pianoforte? and also on the harp? Can you sing? 
Have you a guitar ?’ Then after the question of music is 
fairly settled, you will be cross examined on painting and 
languages, but no such probe can be applied to the under- 
standing or the temper, and Eleanor will pass better 
through the world without either of them than you will 
with both, on account of her superior eclat in externals, e» 
pecially with such people as my uncle.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT, 


143 


CHAPTER X. 


“Little things are great to little men.” 
‘ Ognnno ha i suoi gnsti.” 


S' ft Philip and Lady Barnard were received with a per- 
fect storm of joy by Ladies Fitz-Patrick and Howard, who 
vied with each other in warm expressions of their felicity 
on the occasion of meeting with friends whom they pro- 
fessed to have long and almost hopelessly desired to embrace 
Even Miss Neville seemed resolved on this occasion not to 
be outdone, and relaxing as much as possible from the cold 
frigidity of her natural manner, she hastened to Barry’s 
Hotel along with Lady Olivia, and presented an “ address 
of congratulation” on the safe return of her friends to a 

Christian land.” 

A long course of family dinner-parties now took place, 
according to established custom on a re union of relations, 
who then seem to try their powers of wearying each other, 
by congregating the same circle, to discuss the same subjects 
in continual succession for a given number of days, with 
unrelaxing assiduity. Sir Philip Barnard had resources of 
conversation which were not easily exhausted. The pic- 
tures, statues, bijouterie, and antiques, which, he had pur- 
chased during a twenty years’ residence abroad, were all to 
be described and commented upon ; so that Eleanor com- 
plained it was duller than reading a volume of Eustace’s 
Classical Tour all dinner time, to hear such raptures about 
his Carlo Marattis, Salvator Rosas, and Corregios, his vases 
by Benvenuto Cellini, his terra-cottas, and his tables of verd- 
antique and mosaic. 

“ I hate people who are always acting having been abroad,” 
said she, yawning. “ I can’t open my mouth to them with- 
out having Mont Blanc thrust in my teeth, or the Falls of 
the Rhine poured down my throat. It is really odious: 
and whenever I am. appointed to regulate society, no one 
shall be allowed to mention any place out of this country 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


in 

nor any anecdote of what occurred longer ago than last 
week.” 

Lady Howard talked with her uncle forever about the 
Vatican and the Louvre, while Lady Fitz Patrick contrived 
occasionally to divert his thoughts into a discussion of dress 
and fashion, for she gladly discovered that Sir Philip spoke 
as eloquently on the merits of a new sleeve as of an old 
picture, — he could comment one moment on the grouping of 
a Vandyke, and make an easy transition the next instant to 
the gracefulness of a favorite opera-dancer ; and whether 
Cardinal Montralto’s pictures or Princess Rimini’s diamonds 
were under consideration, he was equally graphic in describ- 
ing them all There remained abundant evidence on can- 
vas and in marble, that Sir Philip Barnard had once been 
handsome, and art still substituted what nature would have 
denie 1 to more advanced years, for his whole appearance 
was, as Eleanor remarked, u a falsehood,” which the most 
lynx-eyed observer could scarcely detect in the shade, though 
he was observed always carefully to avoid the full glare of 
daylight. His manners were extremely elegant, and he did 
all in his power to disguise from himself, as well as from 
others, that the lapse of more than half a century had left 
any infirmities behind. 

“ I declare, Sir Philip, you are younger than ever !” was 
Lady Fitz-Patrick’s premeditated exclamation when he 
arrived ; and it was pronounced in such a natural impromptu 
tone, that no one could have supposed her remark was not 
suggested at the moment. Upon hearing it, however, Elea- 
nor gave a satirical glance towards Miss Marabout, and 
walked a few steps behind Sir Philip with a ludicrous imita- 
tion of his tottering walk and very antiquated bow, till an 
alarmed look and a cautionary frown from Lady Fitz-Patrick 
caused her hastily to desist, and to affect an air of grave 
decorum. 

There could not well have been a greater contrast than 
between the gay, flippant, lively manner of Sir Philip, who 
appeared in a continual flutter of enjoyment, and the silent 
broken-hearte 1 wretchedness that was depicted in the whole 
expression of Lady Barnard’s countenance, who seemed to 
have withered beneath .the corroding influence of deep, un- 
mitigated sorrow, and to shrink from the possibility of any- 
thing like cheerfulness or joy. It was strange that two per- 
sons, who had equal cause to mourn for the same sorrow, 
should feel so differently, that it n ^ a r appeared present to 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


145 


the recollection of the one, nor absent from the tljpughts of 
the other ; but Sir Philip had all his life been in the prac- 
tice of driving away disagreeable ideas, boasting frequently 
that he had attained perfection in the art of forgetting. 
Disagreeable acquaintances, unpleasant events, and serious 
anticipations of the future, were all forcibly ejected from 
his mind; and like the Malade Imaginaire , who was ordered 
never to be contradicted, he gave it peremptorily out that 
he was never to be annoyed with anything. He seemed to 
look upon the grief of Lady Barnard as an injury to him- 
self, because it served as a perpetual memento of what it 
was his determined purpose to bury in oblivion ; and not 
having sympathy enough to imagine feelings that he had 
never experienced, Sir Philip fancied that the affliction of 
his wife for the loss of their only child, might have been as 
easily conquered as his own. He had travelled away every 
domestic affection ; and his happiness having always been 
independent of feeling, and resting solely in amusement, 
he conceived little more idea of being attached to any per- 
son or place than a carriage-wheel might be supposed to 
have ; so that nothing but the most transitory emotion had 
any chance of sympathy from him. “Non svegliamo il cane 
die dor me f was the motto, which Sir Philip invariably quoted. 
Lady Barnard evidently felt accustomed to be reckoned a 
bore, and never seemed to expect more attention than she 
received, which was very little. 

After being supported into the drawing-room by her maid, 
and placed so near the fire that a woodcock must have been 
overdone for dinner in less than a minute, she was left to the 
full enjoyment of her solitary meditations ; Sir Philip being 
so happy to badiner with his agreeable nieces, and to be the 
idol of their little coterie , that he seemed unconscious of any- 
thing else. 

A look of restless wearin’ess was perceptible in the coun- 
tenance of Lady Barnard, which it became painful to ob- 
serve ; no appearance of reflection lighted up her eye, which 
wandered vacantly about the room, or rested on the faces 
of those around, seeking some object of interest, but evi- 
dently finding none that could for a moment occupy her 
thoughts ; and the gay laugh which occasionally echoed 
through the room, made her feel only more lonely. Her 
deep mourning dress, in contrast with the gay costume of 
her husband, spoke at once to the affectionate heart of Ma- 
tilda Howard ; and the first evening that she met Sir Philip 


146 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


and Lady Barnard at Sir Bichard Fitz-Patrick’s, she stole 
silently away from the lively party round her uncle, and 
placed herself beside the solitary sufferer, trying, with un 
wearied assiduity, to modulate her voice, so as to suit the 
inaccessible ears of her aged relative. Many vain attempts 
were made, but by dint of frequent repetitions, and very 
marked articulation, she at length succeeded in becoming 
audible ; but as they had few subjects in common, Matilda 
soon found an equal difficulty in supporting a conversation 
on her own resources, for Lady Barnard afforded but very 
languid attention, and scarcely exerted to make any reply. 
Matilda, however, ingeniously caught up the topics that 
were most prominently under discussion amongst the joyous 
party near, and repeated extracts of their lively badinage 
with patient perseverance, hoping to divert the thoughts and 
to engage the attention of one who seemed so greatly in need 
of kindness and sympathy. 

“ Sir Philip is amusing my aunt with a description of 
Captain M’Tartan’s adventures at Florence, how he was de- 
voted to the fine arts, killing time in the mornings at the 
gallery, and murdering his music afterwards at home.” 

“ Murdered his music-master ! I never heard of it be- 
fore !” said Lady Barnard, rousing her attention. u What 
could induce him to do that ? but he was always a strange 
being !” 

u l say that Sir Philip mentions his having murdered liis 
music,” replied Matilda, as plainly as she could articulate. 

11 W ell, my dear ! I hear you quite distinctly, — he mur- 
dered his music-master ; but what was the provocation ? I 
wonder it did not make more noise abroad, for I never heard 
of it before ; but nobody ever tells me anything now,” said 
Lady Barnard, sitting back in her chair with a look of 
peevish abstraction. 

“ Eleanor !” continued Lady Fitz-Patrick, in a tone of 
great animation, “do you remember Captain M’Tartan’s 
first appearance, many years ago, at our house in the coun- 
try ? lie had been studying fashions in London for a short 
time, and observed that gentlemen always came in with a 
hat and stick before dinner, so he determined to be quite 
correct, and as long as he staid with us in Argyleshire, Sir 
Philip, he regularly marched in before dinner with his hat 
and stick ! My daughter was a perfect child at the time ; 
but shall I ever forget the fright she gave me, entering be- 
hind Captain M’ Tartan with a hat and stick also, and 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


147 


making the most ludicrous imitation of liis angular hows ? 
You were a sad girl then, but you have learnt better now.” 

“ I am not sure of that, if a good opportunity offers,” re- 
plied Eleanor, stealing a mischievous glance at Sir Philip. 
u There are some people that I could take off yet with great 
satisfaction.” 

“Sir Philip says that Captain M’Tartan offered to take 
pot-luck with you one day at Paris, and called it £ la fortune 
du potj ” cried Matilda to Lady Barnard ; “ and that when 
he was arguing with a French admiral about the compara- 
tive merits of the two nations in warfare, he closed the dis- 
cussion with a knowing wink, saying, £ Monsieur ! le proof 
du poudain est dans le mangeant .’ ” 

“ Matilda ! you are not a good echo, for that story has 
lost half its point since Sir Philip told it, in his droll, hu- 
morous way,” said Lady Howard. “ Hardly any person 
should venture to raconter ; for the best anecdote on earth 
becomes as flat as a glass of champaign the second day, when 
it is repeated.” 

“ But you are not supposed to overhear what we say,” re- 
plied Matilda, good-humoredly. 

“ Then your conversation is like an aside on the stage, 
which is generally louder than any other part of the dia* 
logue,” said Eleanor, laughing. “ I am sure every note of 
the gamut has been tried to night !” 

“ You really have a twenty-horse power in conversa- 
tion !” added Lady Fitz-Patrick, satirically. “ I shall get 
you appointed interpreter to the Deaf and Dumb Institu- 
tion !** 

The seat at dinner, next to Lady Barnard, which was 
eagerly avoided by every one else, became invariably the 
place reserved for Matilda, who felt perfectly satisfied and 
happy to secure it ; and though no one took the trouble to 
consider why or wherefore this was the case, it seemed to 
become soon a matter of course that Matilda’s arm must be 
ready if Lady Barnard chose to walk, and that her voice 
was to be in requisition when she wished to hear. The first 
time that Matilda took her place at dinner next to Lady 
Barnard, was a great test of her nerves and good humor, as 
she had seldom before appeared at her mother’s table, and 
she felt as shy as if all eyes were upon her ; but still she 
resolved to conquer her diffidence, and exert to beguile the 
melancholy of one whom she pitied so much. 


148 . 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


u This soup is very hot !” said she, turning to Lady Bap 
nard. 

“ Eh ? what did you say ?” 

11 This soup is very hot !” repeated Matilda, coloring. 

u Pray, speak more distinctly !” cried Lady Barnard, 
angrily , “ you forget that I am a little deaf !” 

“I merely remarked that the soup is hot !” continued 
Matilda, with smiling patience, trying to make her unlucky 
sentence more audible, but in vain ; and the color dyed her 
cheeks to crimson when she was asked to repeat it once 
more. 

“ Bennet ! bring my trumpet from the drawing-room,” 
said Lady Barnard, in an irritable voice to her footman. 
u I must hear what you said !” 

“ The soup will be cool enough now,” said Eleanor, laugh- 
ing at her cousin’s increasing embarrassment. “ Could you 
not vary that original observation a little ? Tell her that 
the Emperor of Morocco is dead, or anything else that will 
cause a sensation.” 

When the trumpet came, and Lady Barnard at last as- 
certained what Matilda had remarked, she looked up with 
an expression of indignant surprise, “ Was that all 1 I really 
expected something worth hearing,” said she ; “ but people 
lose less than they imagine by being deaf.” 

Whatever services any one constantly renders to another 
soon come to be looked upon as a right ; and Lady Barnard, 
before long, appeared fretful and peevish at the most tri- 
fling omission on Matilda’s part, and sometimes even com- 
plained of fancied neglects ; though Eleanor’s total indif- 
ference never caused any irritation or surprise. “ Your cou- 
sin has not at all the way with me, and seems thoughtless 
about paying those little attentions that are necessary • but 
I really expected more from you, Matilda, than to be left 
alone at Barry’s all yesterday morning, when you knew that 
Sir Philip had gone to the steeple-chase.” 

If no better inducement had influenced Matilda than a 
desire to secure gratitude or approbation from others, she 
must soon have relinquished the vain attempt in disgust ; 
but Christian principle supplies a motive for doing good 
when all others fail, and she pursued her self-appointed 
task of compassionate kindness with undiminishing perse- 
verance during many tedious months, and amidst the 
peevishness of Lady Barnard’s unhappy temper, and the 
ridicule of her satirical cousin. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


149 


11 Matilda !” said Eleanor one day, in a tone of languid 
affectation, 11 will you be so obliging, when Lady Barnard 
conies down stairs, as to mention that there is a dog of the 
Blenheim breed to be had, from my friend, Lady Susan 
Danvers, if she still wishes for one, to engage her affections.” 

“ Indeed, Eleanor, you must tell her all this yourself,” 
replied Matilda, laughing good-humoredly, and taking up 
her work. “ Your tongue has not yet fallen into such a 
lethargy that I must fetch and carry messages between you 
and Lady Barnard in the way you seem to propose.” 

“ Pray do !” pursued Eleanor, assuming a tone of affected 
earnestness ; “ my voice would be broken for ever if I at- 
tempted to hold a conversation with her ; indeed it would 
cost me less effort to sing a whole opera, than to shout 
through that odious trumpet all day, as you do. I could 
not undertake such a task for the reward of half-a-crown a 
minute.” 

“ You might be still better repaid by a sense of useful- 
ness,” answered Matilda; “and Eleanor, we have as yet 
had very few opportunities of experiencing it.” 

“ Aunt Olivia to the very life ! But Matilda, I do hate 
all those Joseph Surface kind of sentiments, and extra- 
superfine feelings, which are perfectly absurd when you and 
I are alone, and quite among friends ; so let me speak out 
my whole mind without disguise or embellishment, and 
tell you, that nothing on earth can ever make the very 
sight of either Sir Philip or Lady Barnard tolerable to me. 
I never did see such a couple of old horrors,” continued 
Eleanor with increasing energy ; “ they must be mummies 
from Egypt, who were revived by steam, and it makes one 
ill to look at their haggard old faces. Lady Barnard was 
actually going to kiss me when they arrived ! but I pre- 
tended not to be aware of it, and thrust my bonnet in her 
face. I cannot conceive what will become of me if they 
remain longer ! Don’t you suspect that wrinkles are infec- 
tious ? for my flesh seems to creep whenever the old pair 
come in, and I gladly fly to the glass to see something hu- 
man again.” 

“ Or something that you think rather more than human,” 
said Matilda, slyly : “ but seriously, Eleanor, Lady Barnard 
appears to me a very picturesque old woman, exactly the 
sort of figure that Rembrandt would have delighted to 
paint ; her profusion of grey hair, her high cap, and her 
very white handkerchief, are all so neat. She was once, you 


150 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


know, a great beauty, and I can trace some remains of it in 
the delicate outline of her nose.” 

“ Pshaw !” said Eleanor ; “ you will allow that I under- 
stand these subjects rather better than you, Matilda ! Lady 
Barnard may possibly have once been young ; but handsome 
she certainly never was.” 

u Surely you have forgotten her very beautiful miniature 
that Lady Olivia showed us,” persisted Matilda ; “ there she 
is represented with the face of a perfect Hebe, — her long 
dark hair flowing down on her shoulders in massy ringlets ; 
her smiling lips disclosing the most splendid teeth ; her 
brilliant eyes quite riants with animation ; and her skin 
as delicate as the finest porcelain china ; but time and sor- 
row have committed fearful ravages on all that was once so 
lovely.” 

“ Now for a few moral reflections, Matilda ! the subject is 
so very new and inviting, that it would be quite a treat. Do 
revive some of our old lessons out of the copy-books, with 
notes and annotations, taking as an instance , 1 Beauty quickly 
fades !’ For my own part, I do not wish to survive one sin- 
gle day after age and ugliness overtake me ; for it really 
seems no bad plan of the Hindoos, who put people to death 
whenever they become no longer useful or ornamental, — poor 
Lady Barnard would have been off long ago !” 

“ And yet, Eleanor, there is some wise purpose of Provi- 
dence for which she is spared,” said Matilda ; u and if either 
of us lives to be as helpless as Lady Barnard, we may still 
have the consolation of believing that our remaining on earth 
is not utterly in vain. I remember hearing of an ignorant 
old woman who was so wearied of life that she said, 1 Surely 
death has forgotten me !’ but we know, that every day our 
existence is continued by His special permission for some 
merciful purpose, and that when we cannot be active in doing 
the will of Grod, we may still show a useful example by suf- 
fering it patiently.” 

“ Like poor Lady Barnard, who grumbles all day,” said 
Eleanor, heedlessly : a but Sir Philip is certainly not so 
tired of life as the old woman you mention, for I am told 
that he ransacked every village church-yard in his way down, 
to ascertain how many people had lived to be ninety, though 
I really wonder that he is not already ashamed to be seen 
alive so long. Sir Philip seems to have known every body’s 
grandfather ; and how provoked he appeared when I pointed 
out that he was always two generations before the present 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


151 


day, when he inquired for any old acquaintance. It is urn 
pardonably stingy of him to bring us nothing from abroad ! 
Whenever one hears of a rich old uncle, I always connect 
with his name the idea of India shawls, gold bracelets, and 
diamond ear-rings, especially now that he has no family. A 
propos , Matilda, how diverted I was yesterday, when you 
listened so intently to Lady Barnard’s praises of her unfor- 
tunate son, as if he had been some former lover of your own. 
I actually fancied you were in tears about him at one time.” 

“ Perhaps you might have been so likewise, Eleanor, had 
you heard all that I did from the poor afflicted mother,” 
said Matilda ; “ nothing could be more deeply touching than 
her description of his last hours. You often say that there 
is no sensation so pleasing as being moved by a tragedy : 
but this is a more touching story than any that could be re- 
presented on the stage, and it would soothe Lady Barnard’s 
feelings if you would ask her to repeat the melancholy nar- 
rative again. It will only cost you the trouble of listening ; 
so do try.” 

“ How can you propose such a thing, Matilda !” exclaimed 
Eleanor, yawning. “ I was always quicker than you, and 
never could endure prosing. Y ou might have known me 
better !” 

11 1 shall know you better another time,” said Matilda, re- 
proachfully. “ Dear Eleanor ! can you wonder if I am slow 
to believe that you do not compassionate such accumulated 
sorrows as poor Lady Barnard's, cut off as she is from the 
possibility of holding much intercourse with others, and hav- 
ing no subject for her solitary thoughts to dwell upon with 
interest, except the grave of her only child. You might do 
much to cheer her spirits, few people are so gifted for the 
task as you are ; and Eleanor, there are n6 amusements 
that could deserve to be compared with the hope of being 
serviceable to her. By accustoming Lady Barnard to your 
voice, it becomes scarcely an effort to make her hear ; and 
she has allowed me to select some books that we may read 
together, — pray, assist me, for the pleasure is greater than 
the exertion.” 

“ To such a hard-working good creature as you, I dare say 
it may,” cried Eleanor, taking up a novel ; u but dolce far 
nienie is my motto ; for I am really getting indolent now, 
and, as the man said who was handsome, ‘ I can’t help it.’ 
One thing, however,. I must hint to you, Matilda, that next 
time you attempt to treat Lady Barnard with music, it would 


152 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


be prudent to shut all the doors and windows for the credit 
of the house, because those trumpery Scotch airs, that she 
doats on, thundered with the loud pedals, would be enough 
to set all the bears in the street a-dancing. She asked me 
once to perform them, but I took care to be nearly inaudible, 
and just enough out of time and tune to make her never de- 
sire such another serenade ; for I would rather break stones 
on the road than hammer the chords of a defenceless piano- 
forte so atrociously. You should make a vow, as I did long 
ago, not to play any music, on whatever pretext, that has 
once been ground on a hand-organ.” 

“ I am glad to give pleasure on any terms,” replied our 
heroine. “Consider, Eleanor, the trouble and time it has 
cost me to acquire some knowledge of music, and that as I 
am not competent to gratify such epicures in the science as 
you can, it is something to be thankful for, if I can satisfy 
any one.” 

“ Matilda, I am afraid you are going to become one of 
those people who set up for being ‘ too good for this world ,’ ” 
said Eleanor, satirically. 11 1 know two or three already 
who are upon that plan, and it is perfectly intolerable. They 
pique themselves upon doing everything that no one else 
would do, and make a great ostentation of having amiable 
weaknesses, — if a stranger does something atrociously wrong, 
they profess to believe that he had certainly some good mo- 
tive in spite of appearances. They make a point of praising 
their enemies more than their friends ; and if any one is 
universally odious, they take him under their peculiar pa- 
tronage, and tyrannize over the conversation by allowing no 
one to speak of him according to truth, or to tell a story of 
him without saying that they would like to hear both sides 
of it, which is a thing that for my own part I never wish to 
do. as I always find that the first edition has the most point. 
And these people delight to be imposed upon by beggars 
or impostors, and to tell the story against themselves, with 
a sort of 1 too-good-for-this-world’ expression on their coun- 
tenances, and a concluding remark that they would rather 
be taken in a thousand times than become suspicious. I am 
gifted with a talisman that reveals to me in whatever corner 
affectation may lurk, and it certainly does get into very 
odd and unsuspected hiding-holes occasionally, Matilda.” 

u If you ever detect any symptoms of it in me, in thought, 
word, or deed, drive it out instantly,” replied our heroine, 
good-humoredly. “ I shall search my own mind with double 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 153 

diligence, for nothing can be worse than the smallest de 
parture from the candor and simplicity of right feeling.” 

“ Matilda, you are good-natured, and that is worse than 
anything,” said Eleanor, laughing. “ I never was so angry 
at any one in my life as at old Lady Susan Danvers, when 
I once heard her call me ‘ a good-natured girl and I am 
sure she will never venture to do so again. Good-natured 
people are never supposed to have anything else in the 
world to recommend them ; and though I have seen several 
who really had some very respectable virtues beside, yet the 
instant they are branded with the name of 1 good-natured,’ 
every one in society feels privileged to talk of them, and to 
apply that epithet with a tone of contemptuous patronage, 
and to take all sorts of impertinent liberties with their car- 
riages, their horses, and their time, without feeling the same 
obligation that they would express towards any one else 
who was not supposed to have a similar convenient facility 
of temper.” 

“ This is quite a new code of morals,” continued our 
heroine, “ and requires consideration before I become one 
of your pupils.” 

“ It would save you a world of troubles to do so at once,” 
said Eleanor. “ Did ever any one waste so much time as 
you do to maintain the character of being obliging ? If any 
old lady has a son going to India, you wear out a pair of 
eyes with copying his miniature for her, — if any new manu- 
script song is in circulation, upon which every young lady 
who has it writes , 1 Not to be copied,’ in the largest and most 
forbidding characters, — you promise a scroll of it to every 
friend who asks you, — I would rather communicate one in 
confidence to any dozen of other gm^ than to you ; and if 
you get a new dress from London, or a bonnet that is ad- 
mired, it is generally half-worn out with people taking oft’ 
the pattern before you have ever had it on. I often think 
how much the better you would be of the discipline which a 
young ensign goes through the first day he joins a mess- 
table. When he first rises to help himself to anything, 
there is a general conspiracy that he shall never be allowed 
to sit down again during the rest of dinner. One officer 
begs him to reach one thing, another entreats him to help 
something else, and a third is ready with some subsequent 
request, till dinner is cleared away, and the unlucky debu- 
tant is generally cured forever of any inordinate desire to 
oblige. As for the time squandered on Lady Barnard, I 


154 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


cannot imagine how you answer that to yourself ; but Sir 
Philip, to do you justice, engrosses but little notice.” 

“ Because he really does not require it,” replied Matilda ; 
as long as mamma and my aunts talk to him, he is inde- 
pendent of every one else in the world.” 

“ They talk to him /” repeated Eleanor, laughing “ What 
a mistake ! No one can speak to Sir Philip, but all may 
listen who choose. He is one of those arbitrary talkers so 
common now among those who are reckoned, or who reckon 
themselves, entertaining, who never attend to what is said 
by any one else, and have no more idea of altering the cur- 
rent of their conversation on account of a story or remark 
from another quarter, than a pedestrian would have of 
changing his course if he wished to cross the road, and felt 
unwillingly obliged to wait till some lumbering wagon had 
passed. He recalls the point of his own story with partial 
fondness, when every one is laughing perhaps at the humor 
of some one else ; and he resumes the thread of what he 
said before, as if the interruptions of other people were only 
made that he might have time to take breath. There is 
more selfishness shown in conversation than in many much 
more important things in life.” 

u But, Eleanor, you know mamma got him to hear out 
her favorite story yesterday, about Captain M’ Tartan so 
nearly throwing down the Venus de Medici at Florence last 
year.” 

“ True, but he kept up a sort of obligato accompaniment 
all the way through, of contradictions, and corrections, and 
doubts, and little Italian sentences, merely to dim your 
mother’s brilliancy, and to prevent her from outshining 
himself. There is a want of fairness in all this. Conversa- 
tion is a common property, and every one feels perfectly 
competent to contribute his own share. In a charitable 
subscription we are as careful to collect the poor people’s 
half-pence as the rich people’s sovereigns, and in this case 
each individual is still more willing to subscribe his mite. 
Aunt Barbara is also a most refractory listener. I went to 
her room three times last day we were at Ashgrove, to tell 
something it was of consequence for her to know, and I came 
away fairly defeated by her volubility. It was like opening 
the door in a blast of wind when I entered, she had such a 
lurricane of words.” 

“ What were they all about ?” asked Matilda. 

“ Can you seriously wish to know what Barbara eve-f 


OR TI1E MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


155 


says ?” asked Eleanor incredulously. u She was in a sUto 
of vehement indignation at Sir Francis for having narrated 
some ludicrous stories of long ago, relating to ‘ Frank Har- 
vey/ as he will persist in calling him ; and she spoke in 
most moving terms about the whole affair, as a persecution 
of herself and of him, though I protested that my uncle had 
certainly no recollection at the moment of her having any 
peculiar interest in the subject. This of course she would 
be most unwilling to believe, as she is constantly on the 
qui vive for affronts, and I made the matter worse, having 
accidentally picked up a phamphlet of Miss llackcl Stod- 
art’s, and thrown it rather contcmptously down again ; 
but she would not have missed that cither, on any account, 
because it will tell so well at the next meeting, and be dig- 
nified with the name of ‘ a persecution 7 also. 1 wish people 
would only call things by their right names ; and as for 
your father’s good-humored jests being ever taken up as a 
serious affair, it really is like raising a storm in a tea cup.” 

u So I think,” replied Matilda, smiling ; “ and it was a 
thousand pities Aunt Barbara made such an uproar as she 
did about the matter, hinting about enemies, and slanderers, 
and forgiveness, till papa became seriously irritated. If 
Aunt Olivia had no.t so judiciously set sail on a new tack, 
and carried papa along with her, a regular bombardment 
would have ensued on both sides, ending, in all probability, 
what an irreparable breach.” 

“ And Barbara hoisting her colors higher than ever, sup- 
posing herself undoubtedly in the right,” added Eleanor, 
leaving the room. “ The only thing that vexed me was, to 
see Lady Olivia really agitated and distressed. She changed 
color once or twice during the altercation, and with such 
evidently declining health, everything that wears her out 
is deeply to be deplored by us. The sword is already too 
much for the scabbard, and will soon destroy it altogether. 
Oh, why has worth so short a date !” sighed Eleanor with 
transient emotion as she closed the door. 

« Ah, why indeed !” thought Matilda, while a tear gatli- 
sred in her eye ; “ but, as the poet goes on to say — 

“ ‘ The monarch may forget the crown 
That on his head an hour has been ; 

The mother may forget the child 
That smiles so sweetly on her knee, 

But I’ll remember thee, my friend, 

And all that thou hast done for me.’ ”* 


* Burns. 


i 56 MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 

Sir Philip Barnard had given great offence to Eleanor, 
at an early stage of their acquaintance, by criticising her 
skill in Italian. tl She is fluent enough,” he said, turning 
to Lady Fitz-Patrick, “ but her pronunciation is dreadfully 
provincial, — Matilda Howard’s is the same. It is a thou- 
sand pities their time has been so wasted, for I would 
rather never speak the language at all. than use such a per- 
verted accent.” 

Matilda expressed no surprise, though she felt some mor* 
tification at her uncle’s unqualified censure ; but Eleanor’s 
indignation was beyond control, and the greatest affront 
of all was to be levelled with Matilda, to whom she reck- 
oned herself incomparably superior. 

“ I am quite astonished at what you say !” replied she, 
endeavoring to force a laugh. “ Many people have de- 
clared they would scarcely believe I had not spent my life 
on the Continent.” 

“ These complaisant friends of yours probably never 
were abroad themselves,” replied Sir Philip, dryly. “ Ima- 
gine, Eleanor ! any two girls from Somersetshire or Cum- 
berland attempting to speak English in London, and you 
may then conceive the sort of appearance you and Matilda 
would make at Florence, — you must both spend a winter 
abroad, or never let me hear the sound of your voice again 
in any language but English. Though really, to give every 
one their due, Matilda seems tolerably well acquainted with 
the Continent, and knows what are the lions at any town I 
mention. She has an idea likewise of the most celebrated 
pictures which I hope she will live to see, for nothing im- 
proves the taste so much as visiting and studying in gal- 
leries abroad.” 

“ It is vain to talk of improving people’s tastes who have 
naturally none,” said Eleanor, pertly. “ Matilda’s taste is 
like Hr. Johnson’s estate in Yorkshire, which he always 
quoted when people talked of having lost what they never 
possessed. I have to set her right almost every day at the 
painting academy, and often choose what pieces she ought 
to copy, because her own selection is so indifferent.” 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed Sir Philip, satirically, “ Secondo 
voi ! ” 

u Yes,” continued Eleanor, “ Matilda seldom disputes tho 
point with me, — and Mr. Crayon frequently appeals to my 
judgment and taste in his own sketches.” 

“ There is infinite good taste in your saying all this, 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


157 


Eleanor,” interrupted Lady Howard, laughing ; “ and if we 
were each to be sold at our own estimate of ourselves, I be- 
lieve Matilda would go as much below her own real value 
as you would go above yours ; but it will all pass in the 
world, where people generally are appreciated according to 
what they assume.” 

Lady Fitz-Patrick had talked so much of her daughter’s 
drawings, that the well-hackneyed album and portfolio were 
one evening produced, at the request of Sir Philip, who 
drew in his chair and put on his spectacles, exhibiting the 
air of anticipated pleasure with which he might have been 
supposed to prepare for privately inspecting some celebrated 
work of art. 

The first few drawings he cast aside, evidently consider- 
ing them such as it was impossible for him to look at. 
“ Ah ! copied from Claude ; tolerably good,” exclaimed he 
at length, in a patronizing tone, “ but that cloud is like a 
feather-bed. — Ruins ! you have taken this from the Pironesi ; 
the touch is too minute, very labored indeed. Y our hand 
is cramped with drawing so frequently on a small scale ! 
Why do you work in an album % Faremo un buco neW ac- 
qua . — Show me some of your large, bold sketches, — they 
are the sort of things for a beginner. You should never 
be allowed to finish a drawing till you have learnt a more 
correct outline, — this man must be seven feet high at least, 
and that steeple is leaning like the tower of Pisa.” 

“ I wish Sir Philip was suspended from the top of it,” 
whispered Eleanor, angrily, to Matilda. 

Lady Fitz-Patrick with alarm observed a gathering storm 
on her daughter’s brow, and hastily exclaimed, in a depre- 
cating voice, “ You forget, Sir Philip, that these are not an 
artist’s performances that you are inspecting.” 

u I am not likely to forget that in the present instance,” 
muttered Sir Philip, still turning them hastily over with a 
transient glance of disapprobation ; at length he started up, 
and pushing the whole collection contemptuously aside, ex- 
claimed, “ Assai pampini e potfuva ! But are we to live for- 
ever without music ? I have not endured such a fast for 
ages before. Let me make an overture to you, Eleanor, for 
some airs in the last new opera. If your notes could be 
coined into gold, I would rather live like Orpheus and 
Eurydice on the harmony of sounds, and my expectations 
have been raised above measure by the fame of your per- 
formance.” 


158 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


u Indeed, you can hardly be disappointed,” whispered 
Lady Fitz-Patrick, in an under tone, which Eleanor affected 
not to hear. “Count Valdareighenstein, who dined here 
very frequently last winter, fell into perfect raptures, and 
protested he could come with pleasure, every day, to hear 
her.” 

“ The Baron liked a good dinner no less than good mu- 
sic,” said Miss Neville, dryly ; “ and I suspect Eleanor’s 
playing was not the worse of being accompanied by claret 
and champagne.” 

“ Baron Trottoir also,” continued Lady Fitz Patrick, 
without noticing this unwelcome remark — “ Baron Trottoir 
assured her he had one evening sent his apology to another 
party, knowing that Eleanor never performed except at 
home, and that therefore the music in this house must al- 
ways be better than anywhere else ; he remarked likewise, 
that he would give up his stall at the opera in London, if 
he could only hear her every night in private.” 

“ Well done, Baron Trottoir !” said Miss Neville, sharply, 
“ he knows also which side to butter his bread upon — but 
make what fuss about it you please, I have been told that a 
very constant application to music undermines the under- 
standing.” 

“ Are you musical, Aunt Barbara ?” asked Eleanor, tun- 
ing her harp, “ I never suspected it till this moment.” 

u Recollect,” added Sir Philip, u I am quite afanatico per 
la musica myself, and cannot allow your sweeping clause, 
Barbara, — but I certainly have known persons abroad, who 
played admirably, and were yet very little removed from 
idiots. Come now, Eleanor, as Shakspeare says, ‘ if music 
be the food of love, play on.’ ” 

With an expression of the utmost self-complacency, and 
giving a careless glance round the room, Eleanor drew the 
harp towards her, and ran over a brilliant prelude. “ I sup- 
pose you are a great performer on some instrument your- 
self ?” asked Eleanor maliciously, for she knew it to be a 
subject of mortification to Sir Philip that he was not so. 

11 No ! I had too good an ear to endure the torture of 
learning,” replied he. “ I tried once to scrape an acquaint- 
ance with the violin, but was ready to hang myself on the 
fiddlestick often when a discordant note came out ; but you 
are quite one of the light-fingered gentry,” continued Sir 
Philip, putting on his spectacles, and seating himself close 
beside her with an air of delighted expectation ascoltate ! 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


150 


1 Pray give me some of my favorite airs in the opera of 11 
Colibri .” 

u I never heard of that opera before,” replied Eleanor, 
superciliously ; “ I play chiefly the music of Beethoven and 
Weber.” 

“ You might as well talk of Handel and Clementi,” ex- 
claimed Sir Philip, impatiently. “ These composers are quite 
out of date on the Continent now ; have you got nothing of 

Cardellinis or Solertis, or ■” 

“ No,” said Eleanor, in a tone of pique ; “it was unlucky 
you did not bring me some of their music from Home, as 
they appear to be such favorites, and then I should have 
been happy to practice it. The last new piece I learnt was 
the grand concerto in A, by Maccheroni.” 

“ Well, pray let me have it,” said Sir Philip, in a tone of 
resignation. “ Last time I heard that piece, it was executed 
by Signora Genovesi, the first harpist in Europe, at a con- 
cert given by Prince Neufchatel, to the Crown Prince 
of B***a.” 

Nothing daunted by Sir Philip’s reminiscences, Eleanor 
commenced the piece with an air of nonchalance which 
showed the most perfect confidence in her own powers. Sir 
Philip knit his brows, folded his arms, and composed him- 
self into an attitude of intense attention, while Lady Fitz- 
Patrick and Matilda both watched his countenance with 
exultation, as they anticipated the pleasure and astonish- 
ment in which he would soon be entranced. “ Piano ! 
Adagio non correte ,” exclaimed Sir Philip, suddenly raising 
himself with a start. “ Adagio /” continued he, audibly 
beating time on the table with his spectacle-case, non andante 
in tempo .” 

“You will put me quite out!” cried Eleanor, peevishly, 
and Matilda trembled for what her cousin might say next, 
seeing her visibly irritated ; but, fortunately, Lady Fitz- 
Patrick contrived to give her a cautionary glance, which 
had its due effect for the time, and she proceeded a few bars 
farther without interruption, till at last, with a contortion of 
horror, and something very much resembling an Italian 
oath, Sir Philip eagerly exclaimed, — 

“ Ah, Piano ! Pianissimo ! Mi fate allegare i denti ! ob- 
serve, Eleanor, it is marked expressivo! Genovesi cculd 
scarcely be heard here : she seemed twenty miles off, and 
yet every note was so distinctly articulated, you might have 
counted them.” 


160 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


u I do not pretend to perform like Signora G-enovesi,’ 1 
said Eleanor, in a tone of pique ; “ but when Miss Marabout 
plays this concerto, you would allow that few can excel her; 
and she always executed this passage quite forte, it adds so 
much to the effect. Every person of taste who has heard 
me agreed in the same opinion.” 

Sir Philip uttered a loud “ Pshaw !” of contempt, and 
shrugged his shoulders with a grimace that might have done 
for a Frenchman. “ Tuona ! ” said he, satirically ; but 
Eleanor thundered on, — the piece became more intricate ; 
she continued to tear the strings, and to run up the half 
notes with marvellous rapidity, but very little attention to 
time, till at length, having exhausted all the difficulties and 
li new effects” in the science of music, she safely arrived at 
her final crash. 

A dead pause ensued, which seemed more obvious from 
its having been preceded by such a clamor, and the silence 
was never likely to be broken ; Lady Fitz-Patrick waited 
anxiously for Sir Philip’s opinion, and looked full of expec- 
tation, but, if there was a subject on earth in which he felt 
incapable of showing complaisance, it was music, — be 
thought it too sacred and important a business for the com- 
mon courtesies of life, and therefore, muttering to himself 
some sentences of Italian, which were quite inaudible, he 
hastily took Eleanor’s book from the desk of the piano-forte, 
and having slowly replaced his spectacles, he began carefully 
turning over the pages. 

“ I hope you are pleased on the whole. Sir Philip, with 
my daughter’s performance,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, in an 
unwonted tone of diffidence, after she had vainly waited for 
the burst of applause that she had expected ; “ Eleanor has 
spared no pains to excel.” 

“ Why ! a she has certainly a brilliant touch ; 

but there is a fatal want of accuracy about her playing che 
danno /” replied Sir Philip, in a tone of sorrowful reflection; 
“ I was glancing over this concerto at the moment you spoke, 
because I am pretty certain that the fourth bar of the third 
page was incorrect as to time ; but I scarcely read music 
well enough to count it, so do me the favor, Eleanor, to try 
over this page once more. I am sure it is a half note de- 
ficient in the way you play it.” 

11 Excuse me !” said Eleanor, whose beautiful countenance 
was glowing with suppressed indignation ; “ 1 am like Pa- 
ganini in one respect, never to be encored. Perhaps,” added 


OR 1HE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


161 


she, sullenly, rising from her seat, “ it is all wrong from be-* 
ginning to end.” 

If you had but learnt abroad, Eleanor,” added Sir Philip 
in a conciliatory tone, “ you really have very good capabili- 
ties, and might have been a splendid player. One year of 
Emiliani’s tuition would do something for you still. It is 
only in Germany or Italy that musicians ever learn a good 
style. Anything may do for English ears, though after re- 
maining long on the Continent we become sadly fastidious ; 
and I often think that music has caused me more torment 
than pleasure ; it drives me so distracted to hear an indif- 
ferent performer.” 

u How unfortunate that I have laid such an infliction on 
your nerves !” replied Eleanor, angrily pushing aside her 
harp ; “ but rest assured that nothing shall ever induce me 
to do so again.” 

“ About this passage where I wished to set you right,” 
continued Sir Philip, unconscious of Eleanor’s growing in- 
dignation, “ I have looked it over, and find, as might be ex- 
pected, that I was in the right.” 

Lady Fitz-Patrick saw a storm gathering on the brow of 
Eleanor, and fearful that it might burst forth to the occa- 
sioning of worse discord than any that Sir Philip had yet 
encountered, she hastily turned with an imploring look to 
Matilda. u My dear girl, you have played nothing yet ! is 
there any music here that you could favor us with ?” 

“ Mine is all much too difficult for Matilda !” interrupted 
Eleanor, conceitedly. u She is still merely working in the 
tread-mill of scales and sonatas.” 

“ And if Sir Philip finds anything to criticise in your 
music. I may well despair,” added our heroine, smiling, 
when she saw him look eagerly round. £t Indeed, sir ! I 
am unfit to turn over the pages for Eleanor, and you would 
not be able to remain in the room above three minutes.” 

u Well, you can but try,” replied Sir Philip ; “ I admire 
a little modest diffidence, and shall endeavor to make due 
allowances. Here is a pretty simple air by Rossini ; sup- 
pose you give it us.” 

Eleanor generally required as much pressing before she 
would perform, as if she were to have a benefit concert the 
following day, which she did not choose to anticipate. But 
Matilda never waited for a prelude of entreaties when any 
one wished for music ; and without indulging in the cus- 
tomary disparaging protestations of incapacity, and being 


162 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


£>ut of practice, &c., she instantly sat down, though greatly 
intimidated by the look of criticising attention with which 
Sir Philip prepared to listen. 

Eleanor hummed a tune, and strolled contemptuously 
towards the window, while Lady Fitz-Patrick stirred the fire, 
arranged her books, moved about the chairs, and did every- 
thing in her power to show that she expected nothing : yet 
still Sir Philip listened on, — he beat time, and Matilda 
uttered no remonstrance ; he hummed a rather discordant 
accompaniment, and she did not look annoyed ; he corrected 
a difficult passage, and she repeated it over again till he was 
satisfied ; and when the whole piece was concluded, she 
turned round with heightened color, and her usual frank, 
good-humored smile, saying, — 

“ I really did not feel all the beauties of this air before, 
but now it will give me new pleasure in practicing ; and per- 
haps, when you do me the favor to hear it again, Sir Philip, 
I may be able to show that this lesson has not been entirely 
thrown away.” 

u Your would never make good scholars, Sir Philip, for it 
is a bad plan to be so very discouraging,” observed Lady 
Fitz-Patrick, glancing anxiously at Eleanor, who had sullenly 
seated herself in a distant window. “ You make no allow- 
ances for anything short of perfection !” 

“ Why !” replied Sir Philip, “ I scarcely look for that in 
this country, you might as well expect to hear a sparrow 
sing like a canary-bird. To do Matilda justice, she promises 
well, from not attempting too much. Possibly she might, 
with very great perseverance, become a tolerable player ; 
but Eleanor has been wretchedly taught, — she actually has 
no more music in her than a velocipede, do fa drizzare i 
capelli” 

u I think much of the modern music is utterly devoid of 
interest,” said Lady Howard ; u there is nothing that touches 
the feelings, or that can be remembered and dwelt upon 
afterwards with pleasure. As some learned scholar once 
said, it often sounds to my ears like c nonsense verses,’ being 
all in perfect time and tune, without any meaning or any 
soul in it ; you carry away nothing when the tumult is over, 
except a vague sensation of surprise, such as I felt lately 
when the Indian jugglers exhibited their quickness and 
dexterity in throwing and catching their balls.” 

“ Perhaps, Sir Philip, if you heard Eleanor sing a duet 
w th Matilda ” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, anxiously. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


10S 

“ No, no !” interrupted he, putting his fingers to his ears, 
,c I have suffered enough for to-day. That would be essar 
fra Silla e Cariddi .” 

Matilda laughed ; but Eleanor angrily quitted the room, 
and did not return during the rest of the evening. 

u How I do detest that old quiz !” she said the next time 
they were alone ; “ he becomes more odious every day. 
Now say not a word, if you please, Matilda, about modera- 
tion and forgiveness, I am determined to let him see my 
detestation, and to show him up the very first opportunity. 
I am quite of opinion with worthy old Dr. Johnson, 1 1 like 
a good hater.’ ” 

“ What mark is so fair as the heart of a foe.” 


164 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


CHAPTER XI. 


* 1 Since few can save or serve, but all may please, 
O ! let th’ ungenerous spirit learn from hence 
A small unkindness is a great offence; 

Large bounties to bestow, we wish in vain, 

But all may shun the guilt of giving pain.” 


“ So my old friend, Lady Amelia Douglas, is in town !” 
exclaimed Sir Philip Barnard one morning, when paying a 
visit to Lady Howard u She has set her heart upon my 
taking Matilda and Eleanor to the gay dejeune she gives 
next week on the occasion of her son, Sir Alfred, attaining 
his majority. He is, I am happy to hear, a very promising 
young man.” 

“ Of course,” replied Lady Howard, “ did you ever know an 
eldest son come of age, who did not promise to he the orna- 
ment of his generation, or a younger son enter any profession 
who was not the most 1 rising young man’ in it ?” 

“ But Sir Alfred was head boy at Eton, — took a double 
first class at Oxford, and really is a distinguished scholar.” 

“ Then he must be a dungeon of learning, for I never 
knew any young man in society so reserved,” replied Lady 
Howard. “ Some people have hinted, indeed, that he is a 
little of a saint, but I would on no account be rash in cred- 
iting such a rumor, as the world is so ill-natured. His 
mother has certainly been rather uneasy about it occasion- 
ally, however.” 

u Indeed !” cried Sir Philip. “ how grieved I should be 
if our good friend Lady Amelia had anything so truly dis- 
tressing in her family ; but we must hope the best, and at 
all events it cannot last after the young man mixes in the 
world. E una cantafo) volaV 

“ He has a friend with him at college, to whom the mis- 
chief has been greatly attributed,” continued Lady How- 
ard, “ and I have no doubt Mr. Leicester was the original 
cause.” 

“ Very probably,” replied Sir Philip, rising to take leave 
with an oracular shake of his head. “ Great care should be 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


165 


taken who young people are allowed to associate with. 
JDimui chi pratichi ti dird che sei” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Lady Howard bitterly, “there is 
nothing in the world I dislike more than people being 
better than their neighbors, and becoming outrageously 
good.” 

“ That feeling is but too common towards us,” cried 
Miss Neville, looking off from her book, and immediately 
assuming her favorite St. Cecilia expression, with her eyes 
turned up, to indicate that she considered herself perse- 
cuted. 

“You are the very last person on earth that I was think- 
ing of,” replied Lady Howard dryly. “ How often I forget, 
Barbara, that you are any way different from common ; but, 
Sir Philip, about this dejeune at Lady Amelia’s, I hope you 
will not insist upon the removal of my embargo on Matilda, 
for it really is out of the question. I never shall allow 
her to be hacked about like Eleanor, who is already a perfect 
veteran in parties and flirtations She visited my daughter 
this morning in a blaze of delight about the approaching 
gayeties, but I put a decided negative upon Matilda’s hopes. 
I am resolved she shall not be let out of her shell till she 
is perfectly fledged, or it will be impossible to get her in 
again Girls should never be seen or heard of till they 
are quite grown up, and then the more eclat the have in 
society the better.” 

“ Might not a slight rehearsal be desirable before she 
finally appears on the boards,” asked Sir Francis slyly. “ It 
would have softened a heart of stone this morning to see 
poor Matilda listening to Eleanor’s rapturous description of 
joys in which she was never to share, and far from the con- 
trast exciting Eleanor’s pity, she rose into greater sublimity 
of description the longer she spoke, — Lady Amelia’s beau- 
tiful villa, — the military band, — tents, — refreshments, — com- 
pany ; nothing was forgotten, and the whole would have 
made an invaluable paragraph in the Morning Post. Pray 
relent, dear Maria, and let me announce the good news to 
your poor prisoner up stairs, — she is probably at this moment 
seated on her straight-backed chair, with her maps on one 
side, her dictionary on the other, and her book in the mid- 
dle, poring over the pages of some tremendous encyclopaedia, 
but her whole heart and thoughts bent on the approaching 
festivities.” 

“ How very absurd you are,” said Lady Howard peevishly 


166 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


£ but my mind is quite determined upon this point, and here 
comes Olivia in very good time to confirm the sentence. I 
told Matilda, in case she felt anxious about this affair, that 
I was quite certain her aunt would highly disapprove of her 
going, and that settled it completely.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha — That is so like you, Maria,” exclaimed Sir 
Francis, laughingly turning to Lady Olivia. “ Whenever 
there is any intolerable penance to be inflicted on Matilda 
that her mamma would avoid bearing the entire odium of her- 
self, she invariably quotes a supposed opinion of 1 Aunt Olivia,’ 
and the poor girl never remonstrates any farther. Your 
name is an infalliable quietus, and I really believe if Matilda 
were assured that you disapprove of eating, she would starve 
to death.” 

u Then, pray be sparing in the use of my influence, for I 
should be sorry to exercise it too extensively,” said Lady 
Olivia, smiling. “ On this occasion Maria would not cer- 
tainly have obtained my vote and interest against Matilda’s 
enjoying her little excursion. I am no advocate for being 
exceedingly rigid with young people. It was well observed 
by an excellent bishop, that the way to make the minds of 
children go awry is to lace them too tight, it seems dan- 
gerous to lay any painful and unnecessary restraint on 
youthful recreations till a taste for better pleasures can be 
substituted.” 

“ How true !” interrupted Sir Francis. u I shudder yet 
at remembering the time when 1 Aunt Betty’ tried to make 
1 a good boy’ of me, and our Sundays were such penances, 
that I used continually to be asking the maids in confidence 
when it would be Monday.” 

“ What a sad mistake so many good, well-meaning people 
fall into of starting needless scruples about trifles, for it 
really injures true religion, and withdraws our attention 
from what is essential,” said Lady Olivia. “ I remember 
hearing that your aunt never would even stir the fire, nor 
walk out, except to church, on a Sunday, and the impression 
of these peculiarities upon your mind seems not to be salu- 
tary, but rather to have raised a prejudice against much 
!>hat is of real importance.” 

“ She was an excellent good woman, though I could not 
endure her myself,” continued Sir Francis. u Shall I ever 
get over my remembrance of all the listless ennui and cred- 
itable idleness in which our Sundays were passed at Barn- 
ston Lodge, — my dogs all chained — my companions forbid 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 167 

the house — my only walk in a measured pace to church 
and back again — scarcely a book allowed me to read — my 
dinner cold — and almost every subject I spoke upon dis- 
couraged, as inconsistent with the sanctity of the day — in 
every direction the most rigid privations awaited me ; and 
one only indulgence I enjoyed, peculiar to Sunday, the 
privilege of invariably stealing off to bed an hour earlier 
than usual. If some employments or pleasures peculiar to 
that day had been substituted, I might have thought differ- 
ently, or had discretion been allowed me to act for myself 
upon the principles that were taught, I should have felt 
real pleasure in imposing on myself many restraints that 
were exacted from me by another, but it was only in 
obedience I was exercised, and not on my own convictions 
of duty.” 

“ It is unfortunate,” said Lady Olivia, “ that few parents 
see the difference between dragging their children along the 
right path of duty, or teaching them to walk in it of their 
own free choice. We can only direct them at the very out- 
set, and by rendering it uninviting or repulsive, and carry- 
ing them on reckless of inclination or taste, they become 
ready to leap over the hedge when opportunity offers, and 
to escape altogether from control.” 

“ Ah ! you remind me of old Colonel Armstrong’s ad- 
dress when I joined our regiment,” said Sir Francis, laugh- 
ing : u ‘ 1 am told you have been very rigidly brought up,’ 
he said, ‘ and therefore you will of course become for some 
years the wildest young fellow under my command, for I in- 
variably find that clergymen’s sons, and those who are ne- 
ver allowed to be boys, or to act on their own responsibility, 
are the most unmanageable scape-graces on the face of the 
earth in after-life, and have all their wild oats still to sow.’ 
It proved as he said, for if I had not fallen out of Scylla into 
Charybdis, by putting myself under Maria’s yoke instead of 
good Aunt Betty’s, I should have been running as wild a ca- 
reer yet as Mazeppa on his untameable horse, — my monitor’s 
eye having been withdrawn, and her continual prohibitions no 
longer sounding in my ears, I had been unused to look any 
farther, and to seek in my own mind for restraints and for 
convictions of personal duty. Aunt Betty had acted like 
Sancho’s physician at Barataria, and every time she 
stretched out her rod to withdraw some indulgence, my 
appetite was whetted by the unexpected and apparently un- 
accountable privation. If Matilda is a worthy descendant 


168 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


of mine, she must be at this moment tearing her hair with 
vexation, and ready to burn her books, and to break her 
harp-strings to tatters.” 

“ Not quite so violent, I hope,” replied Lady Olivia, 
l; but I really do believe that, to our young and lively friend, 
there could scarcely be a severer trial than the disappoint- 
ment of to-day, and after the pressing invitation she has 
received, and the fanciful description that Eleanor has given 
of the splendors to come, our best chance of its being en- 
tirely disenchanted is to let Matilda go. I am convinced, 
Maria, that she has natural sensibility and religious principle 
sufficient to prevent her happiness being placed in mere 
amusement, and on this occasion you might safely let her 
partake of it along with Eleanor, knowing for certain that 
the Barmecide’s feast, when it comes, can never equal the 
expectation of his hungry guests ; and I fully agree with 
Sir Francis, that the consolation young people have in re- 
signing what they are taught to consider injurious, differs 
most widely from the irritation which it must occasion them 
to find it snatched away by the apparent caprice of another. 
As I have already been supposed a party on this occasion, 
let me take advantage of the privilege implied, to use my 
vote and interest on the side of indulgence. I fully believe 
that with a girl like Matilda, experience will soon teach her 
indifference to such pleasures and the most perfect willing- 
ness to_ relinquish them.” 

“ But why should she ever learn any such lesson?” ex- 
claimed Sir Francis. “ I never wish Matilda to become like 
a nun without a veil, denying herself to all the joys of routs, 
ball, conversaziones , and tea-parties, — no, I never could con- 
sent to any such Barbara-ism , and let me hope, Olivia, you 
neither wish nor expect it ‘ of her.’ ” 

“ On the subject of mixing in society, and refraining 
from it, we find no arbitrary rule laid down in Scripture,” 
replied Lady Olivia. “ You read that John the Baptist 
lived in a desert, and that our divine Saviour associated 
with all men, while the world found fault with the actions 
of both. The same spirit of animadversion still watches 
and criticises the conduct of all Christians in the present 
day, but when we look to the plain rule of duty, it tells us 
not, to set our affections on the earth, and therefore what- 
ever seems likely to ensnare us into an immoderate love of 
pleasure and amusement, is dangerous, and may become 
sinful.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


169 


“Some persons may venture on wliat is hazardous to 
others, who are more easily engrossed by trifles,” observed 
Lady Howard, “and it is impossible to judge of people by 
their outward conduct. I know many who keep aloof from 
society merely because they are indolent, and who think it 
meritorious to lay up a stock of apoplexy for future use, by 
sleeping away that time on a sofa which others are spending 
in active enjoyment ; and, onythe other hand, have often 
been astonished to discover deep sentiments of devotion in 
those from whose manner of life you could not easily have 
anticipated it.” 

“ I believe that some are Christians in the eye of God 
who are not yet known to be so in the eyes of men, but a 
very useful test of our attachment to religion is, to examine 
in what our conduct and habits differ now from what they 
would naturally have been if no revelation had existed at 
all,” said Lady Olivia ; “ and unless every desire and every 
motive be purified, we can scarcely hope that our hearts are 
under the influence of that Spirit which is not of this 
world. If Matilda’s principles be right, her actions will be 
right also, like a watch with good workmanship, which invis- 
ibly directs the hands without our requiring continually 
to rectify them. Matilda soon attains an age, when she 
must inevitably judge and act entirely for herself, therefore 
it is more desirable that she should begin now to emerge 
from that retirement in which she has lived so long, when it 
can be done, as in this case, without infringing on her more 
important engagements, or causing her to keep any unnatu- 
ral hours.” 

“ I am glad you are not one of those, Olivia, who desire 
that the moment people become better than their neighbors 
they should retire out of sight,” said Sir Francis. “ There 
is as much exclusiveness in the world of religion as in the 
world of fashion, and I sometimes doubt whether it proceeds 
from as different motives as we ordinary people are expect- 
ed to believe, for you know nothing can be more lamentably 
common than the ‘ pride that apes humility and I have 
seen a great deal of it frequently in the select group assem- 
bled at Barbara’s formerly. They confess their sins humbly 
before God, I have no doubt, but forget that after rising 
from their knees humility has also to be practiced and ex- 
hibited in their intercourse with men.” 

“ There are very dangerous extremes, both in going out 
too much in the world, and in remaining too rigidly aloof 
8 


170 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


from it,’ continued Lady Olivia, who always evaded any 
discussion of Miss Neville’s friends. “ I feel convinced 
that no one individual can lay down precise rules for 
another.” 

“ No,” said Lady Howard, “ not more in social habits 
than in diet, for many people may eat with impunity what 
would kill me, without their being injured ; and all that I 
can say to those who ask a prescription is, that many things 
are know to be pernicious of which they must not partake, 
but that every one should learn by experience what is inju- 
rious to himself, and refrain from it, if he wishes to keep his 
body in health, and it is the same with mental enjoyments ; 
we must study our own case, and adhere to whatever seems 
the best remedy against lethargic indolence on the one hand, 
or ill-directed activity on the other.” 

u And let us not trust too implicitly to our own judg- 
ment, seeing that no patient is ever thought fit to prescribe 
for himself, but examine diligently what is said by the 
Great Physician of Souls,” added Lady Olivia. u On all 
occasions, in the Old Testament, there was such a direct 
line of duty laid down for every occasion, that it could not 
be exceeded without an immediate consciousness of having 
transgressed its obvious limits, but under the Gospel, we 
are like prisoners on our parole of honor, and must judge 
for ourselves whether we overstep the bounds of our freedom 
or not, and this should be an additional motive to circum- 
spection. With regard to mere amusement, I feel confident 
that no one whose affections have been placed on a world to 
come, can long feel an engrossing pleasure in the glittering 
scenes which entice and mislead people who know no bet- 
ter.” 

“ I rise to agree with the last speaker,” said Sir Francis, 
starting from his chair ; “ and as it appears that the question 
of Matilda’s going to Lady Amelia’s dejeune has been car- 
ried nem. con., I move that the house do adjourn, being im- 
patient to announce this good news to her myself. I am 
delighted with all you said on the subject, Olivia, for though 
I never yet saw the individual who could make me change 
my opinion on any occasion, yet I would rather hear it 
confirmed by you than by any one else in the world. My 
idea of a clever, sensible person is, that he shall have pre- 
cisely my own ideas and views upon every subject, but that 
he shall be able to express and to maintain them better than 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


171 

I can, which has been precisely exemplified in your remarks 
to-day.” 

u Your criterion is nearly universal in the world,” replied. 
Lady Olivia, “ and I hope we shall continue to agree very 
frequently, and to admire each other’s good sense more and 
more every day.” 

“ I cannot answer for that,” returned Sir Francis. u This 
is the first time that your mind has acted like a mirror to re- 
flect mine, and such a wonder is not likely to occur again. 
But I am really obliged to you for assisting to bring round 
Maria. She knows that in general I might as well whistle 
a jig to a mile-stone, as try to make her yield to my wishes 
or opinions on any point relating to our child.” 

The brilliant look of surprise and pleasure with which 
Matilda received her father’s unexpected news, fully equalled 
his expectation, and he was delighted for some moments to 
watch her changing color and sparkling eyes, while she 
eagerly inquired a thousand particulars of what her aunt had 
said, and how Lady Howard’s consent had at length been 
obtained to her attending the fete, and who was to chaperon 
her on the occasion. 

“ So you are really glad to go ?” asked Sir Francis, looking 
affectionately at her animated and beautiful countenance. 
u I thought you would rather have preferred the literary re- 
tirement of your school-room ! Well! I am pleased to find 
that there is a little girlish nonsense remaining yet, in spite 
of mamma and her whole troop of mademoiselles. Recol- 
lect, however, as Dr. Johnson said, or at least ought to have 
said , all preconceived pleasures end in disappointment.” 

Much of Matilda’s joy upon this occasion might have been 
justly attributed to the gratification of seeing Sir Francis 
take such an interest in her enjoyments, for it had frequently 
been a subject of deep mortification, since she had been old 
enough to observe the slight and transitory notice he ever 
bestowed on her, and the careless indifference with which he 
received all her attentions. Matilda had long been accus- 
tomed to see so many successful rivals for his notice and his 
affections among the inmates of the stable and of the ken- 
nel, that Eleanor had one day jocularly said, “ she only wished 
to see Matilda treated like a dog but since our heroine was 
now so nearly emerging into life, and could no longer be 
considered a mere plaything, she felt herself in imminent 
danger of escaping his remembrance altogether ; and the 
tears often started into her eyes when she thought that a 


172 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


whole day had passed without his having paid her more a£ 
tention than merely a good-humored nod over the margin of 
his newspaper, or eliciting a jest occasionally at the expense 
of Miss Parson , as he delighted to call her governess ; and 
he seemed pleased, for a moment, at the ready laugh with 
which Matilda greeted all his sallies of humor, and the in- 
genious tact with which she sometimes led the way to one of 
his favorite bon mots or stories. Lady Howard had allowed 
Sir Francis to exert so little influence in the management 
of his daughter during childhood, that he seldom appeared 
to feel more interest in her than in any other well-dressed, 
quietly-disposed young lady who might happen to be hover- 
ing about the drawing-room. If he wished to present her 
with a dress, it was never exactly what Lady Howard would 
allow her to wear ; if he bought her a book, some insur- 
mountable obstacle was raised to Matilda’s being permitted 
to read it ; and if there were any trifling indulgences which 
she had obtained his permission to enjoy, he generally saw 
her in tears of disappointment afterwards, upon discovering 
that her papa’s leave was far from being considered as war- 
ranting any expectation of success. Lady Howard had nc 
particular intention to alienate the mind of Sir Francis from 
his daughter, but being devoid of sympathy in her disposi- 
tion, she could not enter into his feelings, and perceive the 
vexation she caused him, nor the inevitable consequence 
which ensued, of estranging his regard from Matilda, when 
he learnt to consider her a person over whom he exercised 
no control, and to whom he had not the power of showing 
any patronage or kindness. 

The admiration which Eleanor Fitz-Patrick excited 
amongst all his friends at the club, had piqued Sir Francis 
Howard into an ambitious desire of seeing our heroine 
share the commendations to which he felt conscious that 
she was equally entitled ; and it was with new feelings of 
pride and pleasure that he observed her intelligent counte- 
nance sparkling in all the brilliancy of youth, health, and 
high expectation. “ My dear girl ! you look like a voilet 
under a hedge, so fresh and so lovely ! I am resolved to 
order a dress at Madame Devi’s similar to that of your 
cousin for the fete, that you may eclipse every competitor at 
once, and that Eleanor may hide her diminished head for- 
ever,” cried he, in a tone of good-humored raillery. u I shall 
go to the party myself, and introduce you as a daughter, 
whom I am not ashamed to show. i This is my eldest 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


173 


daughter, sir, her mother’s only care, J ” said he, humming a 
song as he left the room. 

But Sir Francis Howard did not long persevere in his 
project of escorting Matilda to Lady Amelia Douglas’s villa, 
for Lady Howard produced a fit of angry chagrin at the 
very outset, by putting an outrageous negative upon his 
whole scheme of presenting our heroine with an elegant 
new dress for the occasion ; and protested, that as she had 
most unwillingly consented to this premature appearance in 
public, she was at least resolved that her daughter should 
be as nearly as possible incognita , and excite no observation 
that could be avoided. In a dress, therefore, so extremely 
unadorned that it appeared almost like an affectation of 
simplicity, Matilda Howard made her first entre into the 
gay world with Sir Philip and Lady Barnard, who were also 
accompanied by her splendidly-attired cousin. Eleanor’s 
elaborate toilette had certainly contributed to embellish the 
transcendant brilliancy of her appearance, though it also 
gave her the look of being several years older than Matilda ; 
and this effect was produced still more by an air of perfect 
confidence and self-possession, when she presented herself 
in the saloon of Douglas Priory, contrasted with the retiring 
timidity of her cousin, who felt completely abashed on en- 
tering a scene of so much novelty, and plunging at once 
into a crowd of strangers, not a single individual of whom 
she had ever known before. 

It has been truly remarked, that the feelings of a general 
commanding 'a victorious army ; of an orator ruling in a* 
senate ; or of a young lady shining in a ball-room, are 
equally proud and elated for the moment. Certainly in the 
case of Eleanor Fitz-Patrick, no conqueror ever took poses- 
sion of a city with more confidence of victory than she felt 
in entering the scene of her anticipated conquests at Doug- 
las Priory. 

Matilda wished, with juvenile eagerness, of see every- 
thing, — the splendid exotics, the gallery of paintings, the 
beautiful china, and the brilliant dresses of the assembled 
guests ; but Eleanor only cared to be seen, — wherever they 
wandered, Matilda was amused and delighted, but Eleanor 
invariably thought they might be placed to more advantage 
elsewhere, and insisted upon moving on. Matilda gazed 
around with untiring admiration and wonder at all she saw ; 
but Eleanor thought only of the wonder and admiration she 
excited herself. Every eye seemel, in her estimation, to 


174 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


pay homage due to her surpassing loveliness ; and every 
step that passed appeared to linger while she remained in 
view, as if it were impossible to lose sight of such charms 
for a moment without regret. Eleanor scarcely attempted 
to conceal her gratified vanity, and the exultation which she 
felt in perceiving what a sensation her appearance had ex- 
cited, was considerably enhanced by the presence of Matilda, 
towards whom she had frequently experienced a feeling of 
jealous rivalship, which all the unaffected diffidence and 
simplicity of our heroine’s disposition had never been able 
entirely to disarm ; and she now perceived, with irritation 
and impatience, that Matilda was so completely pre-occupied 
with examining Lady Amelia Douglas’s beautiful aviary, 
that she was insensible to the notice bestowed upon Eleanor. 
To imagine that any share of the admiration so lavishly 
whispered around, could be intended for Matilda, never 
crossed Eleanor’s thoughts for an instant ; but whatever 
might be said, she was ready in her own mind to cry, “ That 
was levelled at me ;” and she at length determined to make 
our heroine a partner in her meditations. 

“ How those people do stare !” she exclaimed, taking Ma- 
tilda by the arm, and glancing conceitedly round j “ they 
have certainly found something better worth looking at than 
the African partridges and Java sparrows which you appear 
to be so captivated with.” 

“So I perceive !” replied Matilda, turning in the direc- 
tion to which Eleanor called her notice. * If you feel an- 
noyed, we can move to the green-house. It is curious that 
no one ever feels abashed at being observed through a pair 
of spectacles, but when it is an eye-glass, or rather a whole 
battery of them, the case is certainly very different.” 

“ My dear friend, you have nothing to complain of,” said 
Eleanor, laughing, in a jocular tone ; “ only stay with me, 
and I shall answer for nobody looking your way. I must 
bear my fate with resignation, and, like the eels that were 
skinned, I shall probably get used to it at last.” 

“ Let me lend you my veil,” replied Matilda, archly, “ and 
by wearing it doubled during pleasure, you may be certain 
that the V enus de Medici herself might pass through the 
crowd unnoticed, — do try.” 

“ Thank you, — how very considerate !” said Eleanor. 

“ Matilda, you might certainly venture to show your face 
if mine were under such an eclipse ; but I fear you must 
wait till then.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 1*75 

11 I shall consult my friends about that,” answered Ma 
tilda in a lively tone : Ll perhaps there may be room enough 
in the world for both ‘thee and me.’ — But seriously, El- 
eanor, you have taken out a special license for your tongue 
of late, to say the most conceited things I ever heard. I 
begin to apprehend you may at last be like poor old Lord 
Danvers, who fancied he was so transcendently handsome, 
that he must keep out of sight, and actually shut himself up 
in the house, with a covered walk in his garden to exercise 
in, that he might not turn every body’s head.” 

“ No, no !” said Eleanor, laughing ; u I really do some- 
times feel almost ugly, Matilda ! — once getting up early in 
the morning for a journey — or after sitting up all night at 
a ball, — or riding out in a cold frosty day without my veil, 
I have been quite out of countenance when I saw myself, 
and it was the most strange, uncomfortable sensation in the 
world. Howl do pity ugly people ! But here we are in 
the green-houses, and now for your inaugural lecture on 
botany ; — what is the Latin designation of nine syllables at 
least, for this little plant next the door ?” 

“ It is nothing more rare than tobacco, which is unlucky 
for me, as I lose the opportunity of being grand and pe- 
dantic with a long name,” replied Matilda. “ This is the 
largest plant of the kind I ever observed.” 

“ Lady Amelia Douglas always grows her own cigars,” 
said a gentleman, turning with an expression of humorous 
gravity to Eleanor. 

“ Mr. Grant ! !” she exclaimed, giving a sudden start of 
surprise and pleasure, “ you always appear when one least 
expects, and I had understood for certain that you were 
now smoking cigars at Grand Cairo.” 

“ So I was, and have this instant returned ; indeed, my 
appearance here is quite as much an agreeable surprise to 
Lady Amelia as to you, but I heard by the merest accident 
of her fete, and determined at once to afford my respected 
relative all the support and patronage she merits. . What a 
splendid conservatory this is, containing all that is most to 
be admired in the world !” continued Mr. Grant, with a sly 
glance at Eleanor. “ One might live a hundred years, like 
an aloe, and see nothing so beautiful again.” 

“ Yes,” replied Eleanor, u there are some remarkably fine 
joxcombs flourishing near me.” 

“ I suppose they have nothing better to do ; and really 
the atmosphere is so excessively heated here, that I shall 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


m 

very soon begin to grow myself,” answered Mr. Grant, 44 we 
had nothing half so oppressive in Egypt.” 

44 Ah ! do tell me all about Egypt,” exclaimed Eleanor 
eagerly. 

“ A most comprehensive question indeed,” said Mr. Grant, 
assuming a look of grave reflection ; 44 shall I begin with 
the language, antiquities, dress, habits, or manners, of the 
people, or with a dissertation on their religion and govern 
ment V 1 

44 Spare me all these till I see you in the press and 
speedily to be published ; for, of course, the importunity of 
friends will soon produce the usual effect, and bring out 
your 4 Personal Narrative,’ or your 4 Hough Notes,’ m three 
volumes octavo ; I shall read them then,” answered Eleanor, 
44 but I really have a great curiosity to hear something ex- 
traordinary. How it would enliven society if now and then 
every person were called on to come forward and describe 
the most wonderful thing he has ever seen : the most in- 
credible fact that he is willing to stake his veracity upon ! 
I do so greatly enjoy a little touch of the marvellous, which 
reminds me that I am dying to hear about the magicians in 
Egypt, of whom such wonders are related by modern 
tourists ; is it actually true that they can produce in an 
instant the representation of any person you choose to 
name, and describe what they are about at the moment ?” 

44 If that had been the case, I should certainly have had 
the pleasure of seeing you at Grand Cairo often,” replied 
Mr. Grant ; 44 that would have been quite a sufficient in- 
ducement to make me study the black art, which is realty 
practiced there as a profession, and taught as a science.” 

‘ 4 How very useful !” exclaimed Eleanor ; 44 I wish you 
had learnt enough to produce before me at this moment Sir 
Alfred Douglas, the hero of the day, for I am watching to 
gain the most distant glimpse of him, and he really seems 
to have adopted invisibility this morning.” 

44 Do you know him by sight?” asked Mr. Grant, 44 or do 
you expect to recognize him by inspiration V } 

44 I have it upon the most unquestionable authority, from 
his mother , that he is without partiality the handsomest man 
of the age, so of course, we could not fail to distinguish him 
at once,” replied Eleanor. 

44 There he is, then, I protest ! within a yard or two,' 
said Mr. Grant. 

44 Where, where ?” exclaimed Eleanor eagerly. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


177 


Don’t you see that Adonis in a green coat standing 
near the (Jape heath ?” said Mr. Grant ; u he precisely 
realizes my idea of a c mamma’s prodigy.’ ” 

“ What ! that tall, overgrown youth, with his hair like a 
door-mat ! — pshaw ! Mr. Grant, you always like to tease one ; 
I was in hopes you would have learnt better manners abroad ; 
Sir Alfred Douglas is the very model of perfection, or T 
shall never believe common report again.” 

Matilda being completely hors du combat in conversation, 
as Eleanor never introduced her to any one, was more at 
leisure than her cousin to notice all that was passing ; and 
for some time she had observed two gentlemen in deep con- 
versation on a neighboring bench, one of whom was seated 
with his back to her; but at the mention of Sir Alfred 
Douglas, he suddenly turned round with his brows knit into 
a look of scornful attention, while he listened to the lively 
nonsense of Eleanor’s remarks. There was something so 
very dignified and impressive in his features and expression, 
that he at once attracted the whole observation of Matilda 
Howard, who had a peculiar talent for discriminating char- 
acter, and was always delighted when any uncommon trait 
of manner or appearance promised to exercise her penetra- 
tion, and to call for more than usual exertion of her powers. 
Sir Alfred Douglas, for so she at once guessed him to be, 
looked considerably older than she had anticipated. The 
manly contour of his figure, and the air of deep reflection 
that might be traced in his handsome countenance, would 
have led her to conclude that he must have long mingled in 
society, which he seemed so calculated to adorn. His clear 
black eyes were overshadowed by thick clusters of raven 
hair, and his high majestic forehead wore an expression of 
deep thought, which suited well the grave and almost 
haughty aspect of his countenance. There was something 
noble and commanding in his whole manner and appearance, 
free from the petty littlenesses of vanity or affectation, but 
apparently conscious that he wanted no adventitious lustre 
added to the native dignity and grace of his appearance. 
It was evident that his conversation was of engrossing in- 
terest to the gentleman seated beside him, whose plain and 
diminutive figure might have made Matilda ready to fancy 
that he had been purposely chosen as a foil to the striking 
and majestic form which rivetted her attention, and which 
would have served as the model of an Apollo. 

Meantime a number of gentlemen had grouped them 


178 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


selves round their party, and Eleanor seemed utterly to 
forget Matilda’s presence ; she no longer paid our heroine 
the most transient attention, but continued to support a 
lively dialogue with the surrounding beaux, which soon took 
an exceedingly satirical turn. Not a curl or flounce in the 
room escaped her lash, and when Matilda remembered how 
very unobservant Eleanor had been amidst the beautiful 
scenes of nature which they had been so recently viewing, 
she could not but contrast it with the acuteness of her per- 
ceptions now, when the minutest trifles were remarked with 
a microscopic glance, and our heroine wondered that the one 
should excite so much more interest than the other. 

u That lady in the black velvet has certainly been dressed 
by an undertaker. Her bonnet has so many plumes, it will 
soon take flight altogether,” said Eleanor, glancing toward a 
respectable looking chaperon who stood near. “ Poor little 
Charlotte Clifford, with her scarlet dress and enormous 
white feathers, reminds me so vividly of a shuttlecock, that 
it is fortunate for her we are not armed with battle-doors. 
How Miss Montague is loaded with millinery to-day ! her 
bonnet is like the epergne for a dinner-table, it supports 
such a pyramid of flowers ! a perfect garden of roses ! Do, 
somebody, pluck me a bouquet of it, which would never be 
missed.” 

“ Your tongue might almost be sharp enough to cut it,” 
whispered Matilda, gently. “ Dear Eleanor, they will cer- 
tainly overhear you, so pray be cautious.” 

“ If it would but teach them better taste another time, I 
have no objection. People who cannot dress themselves 
ought to be voted incompetent to manage their own affairs, 
and put into the hands of a jury of milliners,” replied Elea- 
nor, turning hastily again to her circle of admirers. u Pray 
observe that Arcadian -looking couple with such prodigiously- 
sentimental countenances, and the girl with a black and gold 
dress, like a chimney-sweeper’s on May-day. Her com- 
panion has evidently gone mad in white satin, she is such 
a grotesque-looking figure, and her long white veil hanging 
on one side is like a cascade. I wish Lady Amelia had sta- 
tioned me at the door, with full powers to turn back such 
of her guests as were unfit to be seen, and I should soon 
have thinned her party down to a more moderate size, by 
rejecting all candidates for admission who were too fine, or 
too shabby, or too tall, or too short, or too fat, or who had 
red hair, or red hands, or red eyes, or anything in their ap- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


179 


pearance that it bores one to see ! I was born with an 
antipathy to ugly people, and should really like to black- 
ball them out of society.” 

“ What would you appoint as the regulation standard of 
beauty ?” asked Captain Foley of the Lancers, u because 
if nothing be admissible that comes short of your own per 
fection, the party would be very limited indeed.” 

“ I shall certainly keep a place for you, to reward such 
discrimination,” replied Eleanor ; “ but there are really 
some oddities here, on whom it would be worth while to set- 
tle an annuity as long as they will keep out of sight, — poor 
old Sir Philip, for instance, — the late Sir Philip, as I al- 
ways call him, for he must have been dead, and buried, and 
dug up again ; do you see him now, tripping past with an 
agonizingly tight shoe drawn over his gouty foot, as active 
as a parched pea, and making such delightfully antiquated 
bows to Charlotte Clifford, whom he is by way of admiring ? 
But let me show how he reads his newspaper at breakfast, 
eating all the time, and trying to do without spectacles.” 
“Lady Barnard is opposite,” whispered Matilda, hastily, 
“ Yes ! but so deaf, she cannot hear a word I utter 1” an- 
swered Eleanor. “ How I hate all your caution and cir- 
cumspection, Matilda. Do not you know that the fairy who 
presided at my birth forgot to gift me with any of these 
shabby little virtues ?” 

“ Still, I am almost sorry to acknowledge, your mimicry is 
so excellent that no one could mistake whom you mean to 
represent,” replied Matilda. u Be prudent, Eleanor, for 
this once, though it is beneath you in general, for I see 
Lady Barnard pointing us out at this moment to Sir Philip. 
Pray turn the subject to anything else. Look what a beau- 
tiful cactus is growing near us !” 

“ The most valuable plants seem always the ugliest, and 
it is really no better than a collection of cucumbers awk- 
wardly stuck together with pins,” said Eleanor. “ I never 
saw anything less to be admired ! but a propos of awkward- 
ness ; who can that strange-looking little man be, standing 
near us ? what long helpless arms, and still more helpless 
hands ! his dancing-master should be put in the pillory if 
he ever had one ; and as for his hair, I wish we had it to 
stuff our dining-room sofa with.’ ” 

u I think he is speaking to Sir Alfred Douglas,” inter- 
rupted Matilda, anxious to divert the current of her cousin’s 


180 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


animadversions. “ At least the gentleman looks as papa 
described him to us, 1 dismal and gentleman-like.’ ” 

“ So he is !” exclaimed Eleanor, eagerly, u the most aris- 
tocratic-looking person, without exception, that I ever saw ! 
he appears quite like a hero of romance, and really the pair 
together remind one of Beauty and the Beast ! How tery 
conceited it is to select such a friend, that every body may 
make the remark, which of course they must. I wish you 
were a better foil for me, Matilda.” 

“ Thank you ! that is quite a small concession,” replied 
our heroine, smiling ; u you are getting too complimentary, 
Eleanor.” 

“ Every one who comes near you must be a foil, inevita- 
bly,” whispered Captain Eoley of the Lancers, in an under- 
tone, not meant for Matilda’s ear ; but with respect to Sir 
Alfred, I really do not think he is so very a a ” 

“ Superior !” added Eleanor, with sly emphasis ; but I 
was comparing him to no one, except his red-haired friend, 
who must be, I think, one of the red Indians newly caught, 
and not much accustomed to clothes, he wears them so awk- 
wardly, — perhaps he is ‘ the last of the Mohicans can any 
bod / tell me who that is, and they shall be handsomely re- 
warded ?” 

Matilda tried eagerly to stop the current of Eleanor’s re- 
marks by pointing out that the victim of her criticisms was 
actually within hearing, and colored with embarrassment ; 
but she felt so intoxicated by the animated laughter of all 
the gentlemen, and more particularly by the grave and ob- 
servant attention of the handsome stranger, that these re- 
monstrances only added zest to all she said. Meantime, the 
object of her ridicule, in making an effort to escape beyond 
reach of observation, started up, but on attempting hastily 
to glide past the tittering group, he struck his arm against 
a splendid scarlet heath, which was instantly precipitated 
on the ground, and its brilliant blossoms scattered in every 
direction. Matilda instinctively started forward, with a 
vain attempt to save it, and eagerly assisted the unfortunate 
author of this unforeseen calamity to raise the prostrate 
plant, and to gather the broken fragments of the flower-pot. 
At this moment, Lady Amelia Douglas advanced with 
smiling cordiality to where Lady Barnard remained in si- 
lent weariness, gazing at a scene which it was impossible for 
her to enjoy, and longing to retire, when the whole gay 
pageant should be ended, and when she might again have 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


181 


Matilda’s consoling attentions, which, even now, she was 
half angry to find remitted. 

11 Where are my two young beauties ?” exclaimed Lady 
Amelia. u I long to introduce Sir Alfred to them both ; 
but what is the matter here ? you have met with a catas- 
trophe, Miss Howard !” 

“ It was certainly very unfortunate, but the stem is not 
injured, I believe,” replied Matilda, anxiously examining 
the plant. “ I am sorry to say, though, that there are some 
sad fractures and contusions among the branches, which will 
make amputation necessary, you see, upon this side.” 

“ Allow me to perform the operation, then,” said Sir Al- 
fred Douglas, approaching with a peculiar degree of grace. 
u Perhaps Miss Howard will do my friend Leicester the 
honor to wear this trophy of his achievement.” 

As Sir Alfred Douglas presented Matilda with a brilliant 
cluster of scarlet blossoms, a smile glittered for a moment in 
his dark eye, and gleamed like sunshine over his handsome 
countenance, but he instantly relapsed into the grave and 
almost stern expression which his features usually wore. 
A lovely blush glowed upon the young and beautiful face 
of our heroine, as she looked up with sudden surprise at 
this unexpected action of Sir Alfred’s ; and as she accepted 
the offered flower with modest grace, the long silken fringes 
which shadowed her brilliant eyes could not entirely conceal 
the gratification and pleasure which she felt, though a sen- 
sation of embarrassment at the moment deprived her of ut- 
terance, and left all she felt to be read in her expressive 
countenance. 

“ Do let me have a cutting from that lovely heath also !” 
exclaimed Eleanor, starting forward. “ I doat upon flowers, 
so pray give me this beautiful branch to enliven my bouquet.” 

Sir Alfred Douglas did not appear conscious that these 
words were addressed to himself, but silently transferring 
his pruning-knife to Mr. Grant, who eagerly seized it, he 
strolled off in another direction, without casting a glance 
towards Eleanor’s supplicating attitude, whose whole ex- 
pression instantly changed to a look of anger and mortifica- 
tion, while her eye followed his retreating figure till he dis- 
appeared into a distant grove of trees. 

“ Might I be permitted to present Miss Eitz-Patrick with 
this,” said Mr. Leicester, in the softest tones of a peculiarly 
pleasing voice. “ I think that in a certain fairy-tale with 
which we seem all familiar, it would have been my privilege 


i82 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


to present the beautiful heroine with a flower, and to ha\e 
been immediately afterwards transformed into a perfect 
Adonis.” 

Eleanor was covered with confusion to find that she had 
been overheard, and felt for the first time in her life at a 
loss for an answer. 

“ That transformation,” she stammered out at last, u was, 
I have no doubt, the mere effect of an agreeable manner, as 
one would never think of criticizing those they like.” 

u You are not perhaps aware, that in the Mediterranean 
fleet, a medal is awarded every year to the ugliest person 
there, Miss Fitz-Patrick, and the competition for that prize 
is as keen as for any other distinction,” continued Mr. Lei- 
cester, in a tone of good-humored raillery. “ I had very 
nearly become a candidate myself, when Sir Alfred and I 
were last in that direction, and perhaps if you will warrant 
success I will venture it yet.” 

“ No ! no !” replied Eleanor, trying to laugh off the awk- 
wardness of her situation. “ I rather begin to suspect you 
are like Wilkes, who boasted that a handsome man never 
had above ten minutes the start of him in any person’s esti- 
mation, so let this beautiful sprig of heath serve as an olive- 
branch between us, and pray forget all you have heard to- 
night that you ought not to have done.” 

The sound of a gong having summoned all the party to 
a dejeune in the tents, Mr. Leicester offered his arm to Ma- 
tilda, who found herself seated, some minutes afterwards, 
between him and Sir Alfred Douglas. The conversation 
which ensued was animated and interesting to such a degree, 
that time flew rapidly past, unnoticed by any one of the 
trio, till at length Eleanor hastily summoned Matilda to fol- 
low, as Lady Barnard’s carriage was waiting, and their cha- 
peron herself was in agonies of weariness, and impatient to 
get home. 

“What a tiresome day we have had!” exclaimed El- 
eanor, throwing herself peevishly back in the carriage. “ .1 
always hate morning parties, they are so very long and 
tedious !” 

“ Do you think so ?” exclaimed her astonished auditor. 
“ I never enjoyed anything so much in my life ! — the music, 
the plants, and the people, were all delightful.” 

“ That is because you know nothing better,” replied El- 
eanor, sharply. “I observed you talking prodigiously to 
Mr. Leicester, and that sublime-looking personage Sir A1 


UR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


183 


fred Douglas, who seems the most proud, arrogant, self-suf- 
ficient, and disagreeable of human beings. He looks as if 
his very shadow durst not follow him. I really pitied you 
for being placed near him, though I guess your conversation 
was like the handle of a jug, all on one side.” 

u I found no cause to regret my seat,” said Matilda. 
“ Both Sir Alfred and his friend seem to be very agree- 
able, and though I took little part in the conversation my- 
self, I have seldom heard one better supported.” 

“ Matilda ! all your geese are swans,” interrupted Elea- 
nor, angrily ; “ you praise every body and every thing, 
which is the most tiresome fault a person can have ! I dare 
say you admire Sir Alfred’s frown and Mr. Leicester’s red 
hair.” 

“ You know Queen Mary wore a red wig, and no one 
was more admired in her day,” said Matilda, in a jocular 
tone. 

u It does not signify what Queen Mary did, for people 
were no judges of beauty so long ago,” replied Eleanor, con- 
ceitedly. u I have never seen a picture of her yet that I 
could wish to resemble. How astonished Captain Foley 
was to hear that I had never sat to Colvin Smith yet ! but 
I must really speak to mamma about it to-morrow.” 

“ Well,” said Matilda, K I would rather have people sur- 
prised that my picture was not taken, than wondering why 
it was, which would he the case if I did sit probably.” 

“Very possibly it might,” replied Eleanor, laughing. 
“ You know, Matilda, that young ladies are divided into 
only two classes in the whole world — those who are admired, 
and those who are not admired ; so let us each judge for 
ourselves which we belong to.” 

“ Are we the best judges,” asked Matilda, u or shall we 
summon a jury of our equals ?” 

K That could not be found,” said Eleanor. 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


IS4 


CHAPTER XII. 


“ The broad unfeeling mirth that folly weair. 
Less pleases far than virtue’s very tears.” 


“Barbara!” said Sir Francis, one day, with assumed 
gravity, when he and Lady Howard were calling at Ash- 
grove — “ Barbara, I do not think our friend Miss Rachel 
Stodart has published anything new lately. I am afraid 
she is growing lazy at her pen !” 

“ That would be a subject of sincere lamentation to many,” 
replied Miss Neville, bridling ; “and it would be well for some 
people if they would study her works more than they do.” 

“ I am waiting for the complete edition, with her portrait 
as a frontispiece, which is sure to come out as soon as she 
wipes her pen for good,” answered Sir Francis. “But, Bar- 
bara ! I have been thinking whether Miss Rachel Stodart 
could possibly be prevailed on to show herself for a night at 
Maria’s conversazione next Tuesday. We are sadly in want 
of a new lion. Lady Jenning’s two novels are beginning to 
be forgotten now, and nobody will read Mrs. Dawson’s poetry 
any longer ; but I could answer for your friend having a run 
for the night, with all the help that we could give her !” 

“ Miss Rachel Stodart only goes into society where she is 
sure of being appreciated,” answered Miss Neville, angrily. 

“ W ell ! could anything show a higher estimate of her than 
my proposal ?” continued Sir Francis, with a look of naivete ; 
“ Sir Oolin Fletcher I could depend upon for showing her 
about the whole evening. By the by, Maria ! his admiration 
of notoriety increases every day. I have long told you that 
the ‘ history of Sir Colin Fletcher’s arm’ would be a most 
diverting story, and I really mean to write it myself. What- 
ever lady in company is most conspicuous for anything, is 
sure to engross his whole attention. Yesterday 1 found him 
escorting the good Lady Ashton round all our charitable in- 
stitutions ; before dinner he made a rush to hand Madame 
Cantadini, the opera-singer, down ; in the evening I saw him 
in profound discourse with Lady Jennings; and my last 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


185 


glimpse of him was, handing to her carriage Mrs. Sturton, 
whom not a single lady in the room would speak to. The 
poor arm goes through great vicissitudes ; but whenever I 
see any person leaning on it, I know she must be worth 
looking at, as being the best or the worst character in the 
room, and in one of these capacities, Barbara, we could palm 
off our friend upon him for an hour or two, if she will only 
honor Maria on Tuesday night.” 

“ As I have never admitted Miss Rachel Stodart’s books 
into my house, I am by no means desirous to see herself,” 
interrupted Lady Howard, angrily. a You are aware, Sir 
Francis, that I consider it my privilege to invite my own 
company.” 

“ And Miss Rachel Stodart has always enjoyed the power 
to choose hers also,” added Miss Barbara coloring with irri- 
tation. 

Sir Francis shrunk into the farthest corner of his arm- 
chair, and put up his two hands as a screen, with the half- 
frightened look of a mischievous school-boy, who expects the 
explosion of his own well-laid train of gunpowder ; and he 
stole a woful glance at Lady Olivia for sympathy, who in- 
tended to give him a reproachful look, but it broke off into 
an irresistible smile when she saw the irritated aspect of her 
two sisters-in-law, who eyed each other with mutual indigna- 
tion. 

u Does Miss Stodart read much ?” continued Sir Francis 
with returning audacity, u or does she trust entirely to the 
fertility of her own mind ?” 

Miss Neville was too angry to reply immediately, and 
Lady Olivia hastily anticipated the storm that seemed ready 
to explode by changing the subject. 

11 Pray, Sir Francis !” said she, hurriedly, 11 did you call 
at Ranken’s, as I requested, to inquire about the patent 
lamps for my dining-room ?” 

“ Have you not enough of new lights in the house al- 
ready ?” answered Sir Francis, dryly ; “lam sure some of 
them are very easily set fire to, and burn fiercely enough 
for the time ! So you think, Barbara, there is no chance 
of Miss Stodart shining as a star in our constellation next 
Tuesday ?” 

“ Sir Francis ! it is full time for us to be going,” cried 
Lady Howard, angrily, rising. “ You really seem to have 
a slight touch of delirium this morning.” 

u I drove Maria here in my curricle, but you see she 


186 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


means to take the reins in going back,” said Sir Francis 
shaking hands with Lady Olivia as he left the room. 11 We 
shall have a stormy drive homewards ! Good bye, Barbara ! 
the next time you see Frank Harvey, give him my best re- 
gards ; he was one of the pleasantest fellows on earth ; and 
if he wants 1 a mount’ any day, he has only to ask me, which 
is more than I would say to most men. It is too bad of you 
to make such a monopoly of my old friend as you do ; but 
he was always quite a lady’s man, and I only hope you mean 
to take him altogether. I can scarcely fancy Frank, with 
that grave face he has assumed lately, calling himself ( the 
happiest of men.’ ” 

Lady Amelia Douglas became so charmed with the bril- 
liant eclat of her first party, that she announced an inten- 
tion to continue them in succession during summer ; and as 
they were to take place every Saturday forenoon, Matilda 
obtained permission to accompany Eleanor on several occa- 
sions, till at length the two young and beautiful cousins 
were objects of universal admiration, and of continual com- 
parison. 

Eleanor never appeared at the Priory for an hour with- 
out being instantly beset by crowds of eagej* candidates for 
her notice, and she generally contrived to find amusement 
and attention for them all. Her spirits were indeed almost 
overpoweringly animated ; but she was listened to with de- 
lighted interest, and with evident admiration, by all who 
looked upon a countenance so lighted up with youth and 
conscious beauty. No one could rival Eleanor in the hu- 
morous tone with which she described every event of the 
day ; she repeated with almost dramatic effect any amusing 
scenes she witnessed ; with ready tact she detected all the 
weak points in every character, and could draw forth an 
unconscious display of their peculiarities with irresistible 
humor ; and whatever might be the news or gossip in cir- 
culation at the time, sh§ threw in so many droll observa- 
tions upon it, and related what she heard with so many 
apparently accidental touches of humor, and with such well- 
assumed naivete, that even the serious and grave Mr. 
Leicester often laughed where he could not perfectly ap- 
prove ; life itself seemed in her estimation a merry farce, 
where she might laugh off every vexation ; and as for 
weeping, she often said that people called this earth a vale 
of tears, but that for her own part, she could say, like Y ol- 
taire, u Ayres tout c'est un monde passable She had been 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


187 


very agreeably surprised in the pleasures of existence, and 
thought it was any person’s own fault who could not enjoy 
themselves in it. “ One must get old, to be sure,” added 
she ; u but I shall learn to knit and play at whist before 
then, and if the case be very desperate, I may perhaps take 
snuff, and go a dowagering airing daily within sight of the 
portobello turnpike.” 

Those who felt wearied by the glare of a character like 
that of Eleanor, which seemed “ by no shadow made tender,” 
gladly found a quiet refuge with Matilda Howard, whose 
modest diffidence of manner could not entirely conceal the 
mild lustre of a cultivated mind, and whose cheerfulness ap- 
peared, like sunshine, to emanate from inexhaustible though 
invisible resources. The sensibility of her expression at 
once bespoke confidence from all who approached her, and 
the delicacy of tact which might be observed in all she said, 
evinced a continual deference to the feelings of every one 
with whom she associated. Few people thought Matilda 
so brilliantly lively or talented on first acquaintance as they 
afterwards discovered her to be, and the longer she was 
known, the more her superior qualities were discerned and 
appreciated. But Eleanor’s mind was like a shop in Cran- 
bourn Alley, with all that she possessed ostentatiously dis- 
played in the window ; and it often required her utmost ad- 
dress to conceal the scantiness of her stores. If the family cir- 
cles of both had been a criterion by which they were to be ap- 
preciated, no doubt would have remained on the mind of a sin- 
gle individual that Matilda had infinitely more companiona- 
ble and entertaining qualities ; her whole powers of conver- 
sation were put forth at home, and on many occasions the 
bright sallies of Eleanor’s vivacity were borrowed from lively 
perceptions and gay remarks with which our heroine had en- 
livened Lady Barnard, or amused her father, the evening 
before. Matilda’s quick discrimination of character and 
motives had been denied to her more volatile cousin, and she 
was often startled at the hardihood with which Eleanor 
adopted as her own observations, and promulgated for the 
amusement of others, little traits and incidents which she 
had merely pointed out in the confidence of their private in- 
tercourse. No instance of what was amiable in others es- 
caped the ready eye of our heroine, who had the same pleas- 
ure in contemplating a well-regulated character, as connois- 
seurs in painting have in viewing the beauties of a finely- 
touched picture ; but, on the contrary, Eleanor only cared 


188 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


to watch for defects, and listened with a look of wearied in 
credulity when Matilda traced to self-denial or generosity 
some of those trifling actions which are all that the ordinary 
intercourse of society permits us to observe, by which may 
be appreciated the worth or goodness of those with whom 
we associate. In defending an absent friend, — in disprov- 
ing an ill-natured story, — in attending to a neglected ac- 
quaintance, — in turning off a laugh from the blunders of 
another, — even in relinquishing a seat, or in returning a 
salutation, Matilda had been taught to believe she might 
discover the germ of a disposition which, if circumstances re- 
quired it, could carry that moral courage to the highest ef- 
forts ; and which, on such trifling occasions, as well as in the 
greatest emergency, appears absolutely essential to exemplify 
the Christian character. 

Lady Fitz-Patrick considered herself the most fortunate 
of mothers. She complained on some occasions that Eleanor 
was dreadfully wilful about dressing according to her own 
very peculiar taste, and accepting or refusing parties at the 
instigation of every unaccountable whim ; and once or twice, 
in a fit of transient irritation, she wished her daughter was 
more like “ that good excellent creature Matilda Howard 
but it was with no permanent consciousness of any want in 
Eleanor, as few circumstances had yet occurred to try her 
heart and understanding, or to betray that the golden fruit 
which shone in such attractive coloring concealed nothing 
better than ashes. It is said that women have a fibre more 
in their hearts than men, and a cell less in their brains ; but 
the heart of Eleanor Fitz-Patrick was not so constituted, for 
though she professed great sensibility, and was always in a 
state of either ecstasy or torture, her feelungs could only vi- 
brate to one touch, and that was the unchangeable selfish- 
ness which prevailed alike in her head and heart, occupying 
and engrossing them both with unlimited sway. Lady How- 
ard one day remarked, that if Eleanor had been like the epi- 
cure who first discovered the best cut in a shoulder of mut- 
ton, she would have concealed it, like him, till her death-bed, 
and that if she could cause the sun to shine only on herself, 
she would gladly consign every one else to darkness, that 
they might be solely occupied in contemplating her superior 
good fortune. 

When Eleanor Fitz-Patrick wished particularly to fas- 
cinate any one of her numerous admirers, she frequently 
got up an imaginary quarrel with him, which she supported 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


189 


with persevering animation and pretended vindictiveness 
for a whole evening, and sometimes even renewed it with 
fresh vigor on several successive occasions ; which was an 
easy way, in her experience, to supply any want of wit, wis- 
dom, facts or opinions, such as are usually supposed to be 
necessary ingredients in an entertaining conversation. 

“ Mr. Grant,” said she one evening at Lady Montague’s 
quadrille party, “ I never mean to speak to you again !” 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed he, putting on a suitable start of 
alarm ; 11 pray retract your sentence, or I shall die.” 

“No! never while I live,” replied Eleanor, ominously 
shaking her head, “ or at least not for a week.” 

“ Ah ! a week is a lifetime indeed to be under your dis- 
pleasure, and I shall pine away to a shadow before then,” 
said Mr. Grant, trying to look melancholy. “ Surely, Miss 
Fitz-Patrick, no culprit in this country can be condemned 
to what is worse than death without being told his crime, 
and I demand in justice to hear your accusation.” 

u Why, it is almost incredible ! but you actually rode 
past our carriage yesterday without bowing to me, or even 
glancing in our direction.” 

“ But did I see you?” 

“ That is nothing to the purpose ; a gentleman should 
have all his eyes about him continually, and observe the 
very shadow of one’s shoe-tie ; you shall see that I never 
allow it to be i cut and come again’ with my friends.” 

u Is there no hope of pardon ? perhaps I could prove an 
alibi ; at what hour did the offence take place ?” 

u Precisely ten minutes past three, when we were stop- 
ping at Blackwood’s.” 

“ Then by the merest good fortune I happen to recollect 
that exactly at the moment you mention, I was eating a 
basin of soup at Barry’s.” 

“ Remember, Mr. Grant, this is a court-martial, and you 
are upon oath.” 

“ True ; but I am certain the clock struck three as I en- 
tered the hotel, and it invariably takes me twenty minutes 
to finish my soup, finding fault, and all other stoppages in- 
cluded.” 

“ How frightful it is to see the want of veracity in this 
world, Mr. Grant ! I might have been doubtful as to your 
identity, since I only saw the crown of your hat, but I am 
never mistaken in a horse, and I am positive it was your 
bay hunter Scatter-brain. I remember you looked in pass 


190 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


ing, as much as to say, 1 this is too cold a morning for my 
horse and me to be standing and talking nonsense at a car- 
riage window, so I shall turn another way and see no 
body.’ ” 

“ There must be prodigious expression in the back of my 
hat then, which seems to have been, by your own confes 
sion, all that could be visible ; or was it my horse who ap- 
peared to be thinking what never could have entered my 
head?” 

“ You need not deny it, for I have an instinctive know' 
ledge of people’s thoughts, and the only possible excuse for 
you is, that we were in a new britschka, with the head up 
and my veil down ; but still it was very atrocious, and not 
to be forgiven.” 

“ Then I suppose you will positively refuse to dance the 
next quadrille with me?” said Mr. Grant, oflcring his arm 
with the air of one who felt tolerably sure of being accepted. 
“ Will you do me the honor ?” 

“ Not for the world !” replied Eleanor, rising to accom- 
pany him ; “ at the same time you know I said nothing 
about never dancing with you again.” 

“ Y ery true ; but we are to go through the quadrille in 
solemn silence of course,” added Mr. Grant ; “ yet I am not 
certain that either of us could do so, if our lives depended 
on it.” 

“ Speak for yourself, Mr. Grant, but as for me, you will 
find that I have c un grand talent your le silence .' 1 ” 

“ It is the only talent on earth that I do not give you 
credit for, and that, I hope never to see you exercise,” re- 
plied Mr. Grant ; “ but there is one infallible receipt foi 
making you talk whenever I please.” 

“ Impossible ! you might as well ask the sun to stand still 
as attempt to get a syllable from me when it is my whim 
for the moment to be silent : I am not like an echo, always 
ready with an answer, Mr. Grant.” 

“ Miss Eitz-Patrick ! what a remarkably ill-constructed, 
awkward-looking animal your little gray Arabian is, — he has 
such mere riding-school paces, and looks, in fact, like one ol 
the horses you see in a toy-shop. What ! no reply ? if you 
do not take fire at this, I may really begin to despair. How 
unlucky that you did not secure the graceful brown pony 
that Miss Howard rides.” 

“Now, Mr. Grant, how can you speak such absolute 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


101 


nonsense ! the two horses are no more to be compared than 
than their riders.” 

“ Y ou should have left that for me to say, hut I admire a 
little modest diffidence beyond measure, so you were right 
to prompt me in case the idea might possibly not have oc- 
curred in time. Comparisons are always so odious, that I 
might not have ventured to draw one at all between you and 
your beautiful cousin.” 

u No ! nor between me and any body else,” 3aid Eleanor, 
with a conceited laugh. “ I would not resemble a single 
living being that I ever beheld in my life, for the world.” 

u How very odd,” replied Mr. Grant, slyly, u knowing how 
much you are considered to resemble Miss Barbara Neville. 
I always fancied that you piqued yourself particularly on 
the likeness, at least so she always says.” 

“ Mr. Grant, if I recollect right, we are not on speaking 
terms already, or that observation would have been your 
coup de grace. Aunt Barbara is the very opposite of me in 
every respect, and that is my own best panegyric ; we are 
antipodes in appearanee, dress, manners, tastes, and opin- 
ions.” 

“ Then I happen to know she particularly detests me, so 
what is the natural inference that I may be permitted to 
draw, Miss Fitz-Patrick ?” 

“ To say the truth, that is the one only thing in which she 
and I fully agree,” replied Eleanor, maliciously. “You 
know there are exceptions to every rule, Mr. Grant ; and I 
recollect spending the only pleasant hour we ever enjoyed 
together, during our joint lives, in abusing you, for the most 
conceited, ridiculous, odd, eccentric, care-for-no body ” 

a Stop there ! I plead guilty to the first four counts of the 
indictment if you please, but the last ! ! ! only say it was Miss 
Neville’s accusation that I may pardon her, but from Miss 
Fitz-Patrick it would be intolerable. If she chooses to say 
that I care for nobody else, it maybe allowed to pass, but to 
care for nobody in your society, is impossible !” 

“ Now, Mr. Grant, let us begin to be silent,” said Eleanor, 
coloring, and taking her place in a quadrille. “ How I do 
mourn to hear the music of that beautiful opera distorted 
into quadrilles ! I shall really dance to it with the tears in 
my eyes.” 

“ Can any music be too perfect for such dancing as it ia 
intended to accompany ?” 


192 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


“ Mr. Grant ! what has come over you to-night ! am I 
dancing with the ghost of Sir Charles Grandison ?” 

“ Happy man ! After seven volumes of misery and sus- 
pense, he succeded at last,” said Mr. Grant, laughing ; u but 
I could not survive beyond a third volume, so pray remem- 
ber, Miss Fitz-Patrick, that, as the poet says, ‘Nature’s 
mightest effort is, to wait.’ ” 

“ Yes ! and there is our vis a vis waiting for you at this 
moment,” interrupted Eleanor, hastily. “ How unlucky that 
it is my good cousin Matilda, for any one else in the world 
would set about a report that poor Mr. Grant’s education 
had been so dreadfully neglected, he actually did not know 
the first (and only) set of quadrilles.” 

“ Or rather, let her say that he forgot himself, and every- 
thing else in the society of Miss Fitz-Patrick.” 

Life had hitherto been a scene of cloudless joy to Elea- 
nor ; but who can exist many years on earth without expe- 
riencing that 

“ The spider’s most attenuated thread 
Is cord, is cable, to man’s tender tie 
On earthly bliss, — it breaks at ev’ry breeze.” 

A blow was impending over her head, so distressing and 
so unforeseen, that every remains of natural sensibility 
which had not been smothered by a vain and heartless edu- 
cation, would have been called into affecting exercise, and 
might yet have produced a salutary influence over her mind, 
had she not already become an adept in postponing reflec- 
tion, and in avoiding every painful emotion till a more con- 
venient season ; for she always maintained that when sor- 
row could be put to sleep, it were madness to awaken it. 
During one of the gay parties al fresco at Douglas Priory, 
which were all arranged more to suit an Italian climate 
than the capricious elements of the north, an unexpected 
torrent of rain fell with such sudden and impetuous violence, 
that before any one could reach the nearest shelter, the 
whole party were completly drenched, and amongst numer- 
ous colds caught on the occasion, Lady Fitz-Patrick was 
seized with a violent and dangerous inflammation of the lungs. 
Powerful remedies were immediately resorted to, but her 
disease long defied the skill of several eminent physicians ; 
and it was only after many weeks of severe suffering that 
her most alarming symptoms in some degree abated. Lady 
Fitz-Patrick had all her life wished to be considered by her 


Oil THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


193 


friends as one whose health was in a state of interesting 
delicacy, — she never could exactly name any complaint 
which affected her constitution, because the truth was, that 
she scarcely knew what it was to be really ill, and no one 
imagined that in her clear black eyes, and light elastic form, 
there could lurk any cause for solicitude; yet whenever 
Lady Fitz-Patrick was at all out of humor, she left off a por- 
tion of her rouge, and complained of severe headache — 
when a fit of indolence overtook her, she breakfasted in bed ; 
and if she wished to gain any point with Sir Rickard, she 
usually adopted a pathetic tone of voice, and observed, that 
in her peearious state of health no one could tell how soon 
it might be out of his power to grant her what she wished, — 
indeed, when any little vexation occurred to Lady Fitz-Pa- 
trick, she had a constant habit of exclaiming that she wished 
herself in another world, and would willingly die, to be freed 
from all the troubles of life, but she attached no particular 
meaning or importance to the expression, except in as much 
as it seemed to give additional strength and pathos to the 
sentence ; for death had been generally present to her 
thoughts merely as a painful termination of life — of all its 
occupations and enjoyments. If Sir Richard’s dinner failed 
to please him, or if the hair-dresser did not arrange her 
curls well, she fretted herself into a fever about her trials ; 
and when Lady Olivia occasionally suggested to her that 
few had so happy a lot as her own, she seldom ackowledged 
the fact, but undervalued the annoyances of every one else : 
and exaggerated those she encountered herself, till she had 
completely justified herself in feeling the most miserable 
of human beings whenever she was pleased to consider her- 
self so. 

There cannot be a more correct estimate of people’s rela- 
tive happiness than to ascertain what is looked upon as their 
principal misery, so many of us believe that our own particu 
lar vexation in life fully entitles us to consider existence a 
burden, and death a certain relief from some unutterable 
wo ; for, next to the pleasure of being envied, there is noth 
ing more agreeable to nature than to be pitied, or, in short, 
to be an object of notice in any way. One lady is ready to 
die because her husband is not promoted ; another, because 
she cannot rise to the circle of society she aims at ; and a 
third, on account of her son refusing to marry the person 
she had chosen, or her daugher not being so brilliantly es- 
tablished as she expected ; and if such a person be reminded 

9 


194 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


of poor, suffering, bed-ridden fellow-creatures, who have been 
enduring poverty and privation for years with pious submis- 
sion and patience, she will say, with a look of sensibility, 
that mental sufferings are much more difficult to bear than 
those of the body, and that probably these unfortunate peo- 
ple, having no powers of reflection, feel nothing but the ac- 
tual pain they endure, to which the wonderful influence of 
habit has perhaps long since inured them. Such had been 
often Lady Fitz-Patriek’s mode of reasoning ; but when long 
and trying sickness came, with its dark train of suffering 
and depression, she found by bitter experience what it was 
to be in the iron gripe of a power which prostrated at once 
the energies both of her mind and body. Impatiently did 
she long to regain that unbroken health which had once 
been so readily disowned, and, far from feeling desirous now 
to counterfeit langor or weakness, she was the first to flatter 
herself with having entirely recovered, and to propose that 
her medical attendants should be dismissed altogether, after 
which a considerable interval elapsed before she renewed 
any complaint of ill health ; so that, to an unobservant eye 
like Sir Richard’s, she appeared unusually well, and to his 
great surprise and satisfaction, she began from this time 
forward to profess the most robust health, and to be rather 
piqued and irritated if any inquiry more particular than a 
passing u How do you do ?” was made into her progress to- 
wards convalescence. u I think none but the royal family 
are entitled to issue such continual bulletins of their health,” 
said she one day in a tone of impatience. “ Do forget that 
I have been ill, for it is a tiresome subject, and always makes 
me nervous ! I nearly embraced Charlotte Clifford to-day 
in a transport of gratitude, because she was the first person 
for a month who forgot to put on a grave face, and to ask 
me if I had entirely recovered.” 

Sir Richard Fitz-Patrick was in the middle of a late 
breakfast one morning in Moray Place, when, to his great 
astonishment, Lady Olivia Neville entered the room, and 
silently drew in her chair beside him, with a tremulousness 
of look and manner which were quite at variance with the 
calmness and self-possession of her usual appearance. Some 
minutes elapsed before she could command her voice suffi- 
ciently to articulate, and Sir Richard gazed in speechless 
surprise at her varying color and quivering lips, till at length 
she was enabled, in a low and almost inaudible voice, to ex- 
plain, that on her arrival in town, a few' minutes before, she 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


195 


had been unexpectedly met by Lady Fitz-Patrick’s maid, 
who wished it to be known that some of her mistress’s very 
alarming symptoms had lately returned, and that if imme- 
diate remedies were not instantly adopted, a confirmed con- 
sumption might be the consequence. 

“ Impossible ! !” exclaimed Sir Richard. “ Sophia told 
me herself, this morning, that she had never felt so well in 
her life as of late, and I am sure you will allow that she is 
not the person to make light of a real illness, when she so 
long rejoiced in the credit of an imaginary one.” 

c ‘ You do not perceive that while her indispositions were 
trifling she wished to excite sympathy, but now that Sophia 
is probably alarmed in earnest, she would gladly convince 
herself and every one else that there is no cause for appre- 
hension,” said Lady Olivia, anxiously. “ But believe me, 
dear Sir Richard, her case does require the most immediate 
care, and I only trust we have not become conscious of it 
too late.” 

“ You are not usually such an alarmist, Olivia,” replied 
Sir Richard, incredulously, while his knife and fork played 
an audible accompaniment to his words. “ I would not be- 
lieve an Abigail upon her oath, if the subject were of more 
importance than the color of a riband. Sophia’s constitu- 
tion is really admirable,” continued he, carefully cutting an 
additional slice of ham ; “but she was certainly disappoint- 
• ed at my not consenting to build a new close carriage this 
season, as well as the hritschka, and I have observed her 
coughing occasionally since then ; it will be very incon- 
venient, but I must certainly indulge her whim rather than 
he bored in this way ; — you know there is nothing in the 
world she likes better than flirting with an illness.” 

“ I am unwilling to shock or distress you, Sir Richard, 
especially when so totally unprepared,” said Lady Olivia, in 
a tone of profound emotion ; “ but Collins assures me that 
her mistress has been spitting blood for some time past.” 

Sir Richard’s knife and fork dropt from his hand, he 
looked at Lady Olivia in silent amazement, and the color 
mounted to his forehead with agitation and surprise. A 
moment afterwards he rang the bell violently, and paced 
with rapid steps up and down the room. 

“ Send to Dr. Mansfield instantly, and say I wish to see 
him without delay,” said he to the butler, who entered in 
state, with a relay of muffins, “and desire Mrs. Collins to 
tome here immediately.” 


196 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


The butlei stared, bowed, and withdrew, but not without 
casting a lingering look behind, in order to catch, if possible, 
the cause of his master’s unwonted neglect of breakfast, and 
evident agitation ; but not a sound reached his ready ear, 
for Sir Richard maintained a gloomy, unbroken silence, and 
Lady Olivia respected his feelings too much to think of in- 
terrupting it. 

Several of Lady Fitz-Patrick’s family had formerly died 
of consumption, but confident hopes were entertained that 
she had long survived the age when it attacks the constitu- 
tion, though no period of life can be considered secure 
when that insidious disease is inherent in the blood. The 
complaint which is called consumption in youth, merely 
changes its name to “a decline” in more advanced years, 
and it soon became painfully evident to every one that her 
life was in imminent danger. She alone closed her eyes to 
the real truth, and could scarcely be prevailed on to allow 
that her health required any unusual attention, or that a 
physician of more than ordinary skill should be consulted. 
When Dr. Mansfield was at last called in, he found reason 
to complain, as he had often done before, that his patients 
undoubtedly mistook him for an undertaker, as he was 
never summoned till all hope was at an end. In the case 
of Lady Fitz-Patrick, he appeared far from being sanguine, 
though still he did not desire her friends utterly to despair, 
provided she could herself be prevailed upon to pay neces- 
sary attention to his prescriptions ; for he discovered at once 
that the difficulty would lie there, as she seemed determined 
to shut her own eyes against every conviction of danger, and 
she evidently thought that so long as it could be con- 
cealed from others, she might persuade herself it had no 
actual existence. 

u All I ask of you is, to make me well before Lady Mon- 
tague’s concert next month, doctor, for I must hear Eleanor 
perform her trio there, and nothing shall prevent me from 
going,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick anxiously. 

“I fear you must relinquish all evening dissipation for 
this season, and confine yourself entirely to the house,” 
replied Dr. Mansfield, gravely. “ Your ladyship’s case 
requires very serious attention, and to avoid all society and 
excitement.” 

u Impossible, doctor ! I cannot live without them !” ex- 
claimed Lady Fitz-Patrick indignantly. “ Do you think I 
could hibernate- like an insect all winter in my own drawing 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 19^ 

room, and be buried alive here before I am dead ? [t is the 
most barbarous idea that ever was proposed, and you surely 
remember, none but the greatest criminals are condemned 
to solitary confinement. 1 shall be like one of the prisoners 
in Plato’s cavern, with my back to all the world, only watch 
ing the distant shadow of what is passing, and wearied to 
death.” 

“Your own family and a few intimate friends are, of 
course, excepted from my injunction,” continued Dr. Mans- 
field. “ With such a domestic circle as yours, I should 
imagine that nothing could be wanting to make home 
agreeable.” 

“ Why really, doctor, one would suppose you thought me 
as delicate as Brummell, who caught cold from having a 
damp stranger shown into his room. Sir Richard must be 
all day at his club, for I never could consent to detain him 
with his feet upon the fender, and a thermometer in his 
hand, counting the degrees of heat ; and though Lady Olivia 
is more than kind, and tries to suit herself to me as much 
as possible, still I am ashamed to confess there is no subject 
in the world upon which we feel an equal interest ; and 
since I am conscious of this, though she does her best to 
conceal it, of course that rather spoils conversation between 
us. Her goodness, therefore, in coming to stay with me at 
present, is not quite such an advantage as you might im- 
agine, for I am still without any one in the house who is 
exactly suited to be my constant companion, and I must 
positively be allowed to leave my door ajar for some of the 
world to steal in at occasionally, and beguile the weariness 
of staying at home ” 

“ But,” persisted the worthy and excellent Dr. Mansfield, 
u I hear in every house the most enthusiastic description of 
your accomplished and beautiful daughter, whom I have not 
yet had the pleasure of seeing, and from all that is said, I 
think we may safely trust to her numerous resources and 
lively spirits for bringing as much cheerfulness into your 
society as would be consistent with the quietness and repose 
which are essential to your recovery.” 

During Dr. Mansfield’s daily-repeated visits from this 
time, he invariably found Lady Fitz-Patrick att&$&ded by a 
young lady of such surprising loveliness, and such gentle, 
attractive, and interesting manners, that he ceased to won- 
der at so much being said of Miss Fitz-Patrick’s fascina- 
tions ; and he took an early opportunity one day, during 


1^6 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


her st.nporary absence from the room, to express in the 
warmest terms how fully she had realized his utmost 
expectation. 

“ That young lady is my niece,” replied Lady Fitz-Pa- 
trick, languidly ; u have you never seen Eleanor '? She is 
very much engaged at present with the Miss Montagues, 
who are rehearsing for their concert, and as my daughter is 
to be one of the principal performers, she has very little 
time to spare at present for me. In fact, I only saw her 
yesterday for a single moment, and she has not looked in 
this morning yet. Matilda Howard is, as you say, an excel- 
lent girl, and comes here constantly ; indeed I fancy she has 
no other engagement, and it makes a variety for her to sit 
an hour with me sometimes.” 

There was nothing in the world to which Lady Fitz- 
Patrick more resolutely shut her eyes than the superiority 
of Matilda’s disposition to Eleanor’s, for she had long since 
prophesied that Lady Howard, with her methods and sys- 
tems, would transform our heroine into a mere piece of 
mechanism, or a clipped hedge-row, without one trace of na- 
ture remaining ; and neither she nor Lady Howard herself 
would have been willing to imagine that a judicious cultiva- 
tion of the heart and understanding by Miss Porson, or the 
enlightened and instructive conversation of Lady Olivia, had 
been the sole means, under Providence, of forming a charac- 
ter, the Christian consistency and feminine gentleness of 
which shone out on every occasion with the softest and 
most attractive lustre. No one could do otherwise than 
love Matilda Howard, though few could appreciate the 
depth of feeling and of principle upon which the super- 
structure of all her outward conduct was built. In her 
modest character, the root was hidden of which the blossom 
and the fruit were so lovely, and many acknowledged their 
fragrance who knew not their origin, and would have been 
unwilling to recognize them as having been planted and 
watered by the unseen influences of that Spirit, without 
which little else but the most noxious and poisonous weeds 
can be expected to flourish in the human heart, and with 
the blessed influences of which it shall “ bring forth its fruit 
in its £j$&&on, his leaf shall not wither, and whatsoever he 
doeth it shall prosper.” No one ever had a heart more 
filled with humility and kind, affectionate feelings than our 
heroine ; and on every occasion where complaisance could 
be shown without any sacrifice of duty, she was willing to 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


199 


relinquish her favorite wishes without so much as letting it 
be known that she had done so. 

“ Eleanor, my love 1” said Lady Fitzpatrick, eagerly call* 
ing her daughter back one day as she was leaving the room, 
“this French novel has put me quite into a feverish state 
of interest. As it wants but a few pages to the end, and 
my sight is so affected by fever, using them longer is out of 
the question, — pray read aloud the remainder.” 

u Excuse me, mamma ! it is really impossible ! I have 
never practiced my part on the harp for that duet which 
Lady Howard wishes me to play with Matilda to-morrow, 
and 1 dare not delay doing it any longer.” 

“ My dear, I must not suffer you to touch the harp at 
present ; if it were a piano-forte I should not care, but there 
is no escape from the sound of a harp, and every chord will 
go through my brain like a knife.” 

u Really, mamma ! with both drawing-room doors shut, 
you could not be much disturbed,” said Eleanor, sullenly ; 
K and unless I can appear to advantage at the concert, I 
shall not go at all.” 

“ Then take your own way, child, only you ought to be 
charged as travellers are at a Spanish inn, ‘ For noise made 
in the house, so much.’ I wish you would have relieved my 
mind first about the catastrophe of this book.” 

u I wonder that no steam-engine has ever been invented 
yet for reading aloud to invalids,” said Eleanor, impatient- 
ly. “ I finished the story last night, and could not bear to 
hear it again so soon ; it is the most dismal tragedy imagin- 
able. Louis kills himself in a fit of jealousy, and Laurette 

disappears mysteriously ■” 

“ Stop ! what are you about, spoiling the whole interest 
at once,” exclaimed Lady Fitz-Patrick, impatiently. w You 
know, Eleanor, I cannot bear to anticipate, so let me rather 
try what my failing eyes can do, now that they have rested 
a few moments. But here comes that excellent creature 
Matilda, who is always a kind and useful friend in every 
emergency. Pray read to me for half an hour, my dear 
girl, and it will be really doing an act of charity.” 

w With the greatest pleasure !” said Matilda, brightening 
into an animated smile, and hastily throwing aside her bon- 
net. “I brought the Memoirs of Oberlin with me this 
morning, which you seemed to think might be interesting, 
from the sketch I gave of their contents yesterday, and per- 


200 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


haps you would like to hear some parts of this volume to- 
day.” 

“ Indeed, Matilda, I have very little attention at com- 
mand just now,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, languidly. “ My 
mind is so low and nervous, that I ought to prescribe some- 
thing amusing, and if the truth must be told, this French 
book has so engrossed me, that nothing else can be thought 
of till it is finished. If you will let me hear the end of it, I 
shall then allow you to read me asleep with the other.” 

Matilda hesitated for an instant, and a momentary doubt 
arose in her mind what it would be right to say or do ; but 
Lady Fitz-Patrick placed the novel in her hand with a ges- 
ture of impatience, and seeing that the conclusion was only 
a few chapters distant, she concealed her disappointment 
and prepared to begin. 

“ We shall certainly tell Aunt Olivia upon you for an ar- 
rant novel-reader after all !” exclaimed Eleanor, laughingly 
escaping from the room. u I always thought you were so at 
heart.” 

“ Now proceed, Matilda,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick with in- 
creasing impatience. u 1 left off at that sentence in the 403d 
page, where Louis says to Laurette , 1 he would sacrifice his 
life with pleasure at that moment, if it would save her the 
shedding of a single tear .’ — Go on !” 

Matilda continued reading, with unwearied assiduity, the 
apparently unaccountable sorrows of Edwin and Laurette, 
till death mercifully put a period to their woes, and brought 
her task at the same time to a conclusion ; after which Lady 
Fitz-Patrick consented to undergo one or two pages of 
Oberlin’s Memoirs, remarking, in not a very encouraging 
tone, that “ anything was better than being left to her own 
thoughts.” 

Matilda’s clear, harmonious voice, and the simple, unaf- 
fected interest with which she now began to read, irresisti- 
bly attracted her aunt’s attention, who became insensibly 
affected and touched by the beautiful portrait of Christian 
heroism which was so touchingly developed in the volume 
before her, and she listened with a degree of increasing an- 
imation, which gratified and encouraged our heroine beyond 
the most sanguine hopes that she could have entertained of 
success, and time flew by on its swiftest pinions unnoticed 
by either of the party, till at length the door was hastily 
thrown open by Eleanor in full equipment for riding. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


201 


“ Matilda !” exclaimed she, eagerly, “ here are our ponies 
at the door! Fly, and get ready to mount.” 

“Pray do not interrupt her, Eleanor, we are so comfort- 
able now,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, earnestly. “ I have not 
felt as well entertained for ages, and really wish you would 
leave us to ourselves.” 

“ I scarcely think of riding to-day,” added Matilda, in a 
tone of indifference. 

“ What a strange whim !” exclaimed Eleanor, “ you could 
talk of nothing but our excursion this morning, and I know 
Lady Amelia expects us both to luncheon. Ah ! there is 
Mr. Leicester waiting on horseback to escort me, and actual- 
ly Sir Alfred Douglas with him ! that is beyond my utmos r 
hopes ; would you believe it, Matilda 1 and what a splendid 
horse he is riding ! It is the black hunter, Sky Iiocket, that 
we admired so much once, and I told Sir Alfred that you 
had been proposing to work him in worsteds, as a match for 
the Turkish Janissary. Good bye ! Shall I say that you 
were too much interested in a novel, to join the party V } 

“ No,” replied Matilda, coloring ; “ there will not be any 
occasion to mention me at all, as I may perhaps never be 
missed.” 

u Now, Eleanor, set off ; for, to say the truth, you and 
your admirers are the greatest bore in the world at present, 
so pray do not keep them waiting any longer,” said Lady 
Fitz-Patrick. a Matilda and I shall enjoy ourselves exceed- 
ingly when you are gone, though the time was formerly when 
I should have thought myself very ill off to remain behind 
on such a glorious day as this, and with such a party to join. 
Well, Matilda, you certainly have an odd taste for so young 
a girl, but your book amuses me better than could be ex- 
pected, and I know there is nothing you delight in so much 
as reading.” 

Greatly as Matilda was supposed to enjoy her occupation, 
she could scarcely suppress a sigh of regret as her pony was 
led off to the stable, and giving an anxious look from the 
window, she saw Eleanor gracefully mounting hers, and 
giving some lively narrative to the gentlemen in waiting, at 
the conclusion of which Mr. Leicester gazed up, and bowed 
reproachfully to Matilda ; but Sir Alfred seemed so occu- 
pied in checking his fiery courser, that he merely threw a 
momentary glance towards the place where she stood, and 
whether he observed her or not, was a problem which her 
thoughts were engaged in solving, while her voice was me- 


202 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


elianically exerted for the entertainment of Lady Fitz- 
Patrick during the following half hour ; but she was in 
some degree recompensed for the sacrifice of her morning’s 
amusement, by the warmth with which the invalid thanked 
her at last for relieving the oppressive ennui of her sick- 
room, and by the earnestness with which she entreated her 
to return often, and always to bring a book, as she thought 
the one Matilda had selected was by no means dull, and 
would do good both to the head and heart. 

The panic which Dr. Mansfield occasioned to Lady Fitz- 
Patrick about the state of her health, rendered her extremely 
prudent for some time, and she deserved all the praise she 
claimed, on account of the strict seclusion in which she 
lived, and which was rendered far more tolerable than could 
have been anticipated, by the assiduous and considerate 
attentions of Lady Olivia Neville and Matilda, who con- 
formed themselves as much as possible to her taste, at the 
same time that they gradually led her on to feel some in- 
terest in that one subject which ever lay nearest to their 
hearts, and which was connected with all that occupied or 
interested them. Still, as Lady Fitz-Patrick’s cough abat- 
ed, her courage rose ; and when the day of Lady Monta- 
gue’s concert arrived, she allowed herself to be persuaded 
by Eleanor, that, as the weather was mild, and the house 
only a few doors off, it would be beyond human prudence 
not to go there ; and that it was absolutely necessary she 
should once more enjoy society, and add to the eclat of her 
daughter’s appearance by the splendor of her own. That 
such an imprudent step should ever be contemplated, had 
never crossed Sir Richard’s imagination, till Lady Fitz- 
Patrick unexpectedly entered the dining-room, all radiant 
with diamonds and smiles, in the most exuberant spirits at 
the prospect of her speedy release. 

“ Well, Sir Richard, I thought I should surprise you,” 
said she, seeing that he allowed his soup to cool for several 
minutes, while he fixed a bewildered stare on her splendid 
ornaments, as if he could scarcely believe the evidence of 
his senses ; “ the fact is,” she added, in a tone of girlish 
vivacity, “ I can stand this no longer, and as I can die but 
once, you may marry again, and see that my successor is as 
much addicted to flannel and sofas as you please.” 

“ I may as well send a hearse to bring you home after 
midnight,” replied Sir Richard, swallowing his dinner with 
a degree of heedless rapidity, quite contrary to his ordinary 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


203 


rules of gastronomy. “ If Dr. Mansfield had prescribed a 
straight waistcoat, he would have done wisely.” 

Lady Fitz-Patrick was rather pleased than otherwise to 
see her husband so unusually excited, as it seemed a proof 
of his regard greater than she had anticipated on such an 
occasion ; and she proceeded to the concert in the highest 
glee, receiving compliments on all sides, which were worded 
in the terms that are of established custom for ladies who 
are somewhat on the wane — “ I never saw you look younger 
or better in my life.” It was an evening of ecstasy to the 
emancipated prisoner, who claimed and received the con- 
gratulations of all her numerous friends, among whom she 
was universally popular. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 

We snatch the flow’r, the bloom is fled; 

Or, like the snow, falls in the river 
A moment white, then melts for ever. 

Or like the borealis race, 

That flit e’er you can point their place; 

Or like the rainbow’s lovely form, 

Evanishing amidst ihe storm. 

Bukkc. 


204 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Yet does one short preparing hour, 

One precious hour remain, 

Rouse thee, my soul, with all thy pow’r, 

Nor let it pass in vain. 

Hymn. 

Bitterly did Lady Fitz-Patrick mourn, through many a 
long and suffering hour, the indiscretion which had led her 
to Lady Montague’s concert ; for the prognostics of Dr. 
Mansfield were too surely realized, and a violent relapse of 
inflammation, on the following day, put a seal to her destiny, 
and consigned her to a bed of sickness, which there seemed 
to be no hope of her ever leaving alive. Time passed rap- 
idly on, but each returning day seemed to render that doom 
more inevitable, for her respiration became painfully op- 
pressed, — her cough sounded hollow, and for a length of 
time she suffered under extreme feverishness, which was ac- 
companied by excessive weakness and occasional delirium. 

The first object that greeted the eyes of Lady Fitz-Pa- 
trick on a temporary suspension of acute agony, was the 
benign countenance of Lady Olivia Neville, bending over 
her with a look of affectionate solicitude ; and as the ex- 
hausted sufferer pressed her hand in token of recognition, 
Lady Olivia silently kissed her cheek, and quietly resumed 
her place near the bed ; Miss Barbara immediately started 
forward to claim her sister’s attention also, exhibiting an 
ostentation of grief and anxiety which was plainly intended 
to impress on Lady Fitz-Patrick the state of imminent 
danger to which she had reduced herself. “ I always feared, 
Sophia, that it would come to this,” said she, in a senten- 
tious voice. “ What could tempt you to venture out at such 
a risk ? if it had been Eleanor, one need not have won- 
dered ; but you must have known better, and I could have 
told atbnce what would be the consequence myself.” 

“ Barbara ” whispered Lady Howard in a sarcastic tone 

“ ‘ You would rather she should die, 

Than your prediction prove a lie, 7 

Pray time these reflections a little better.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


205 


“ We are bound at all seasons to proclaim the truth boldly, 
whether it be acceptable or not,” replied Miss Neville, an- 
grily ; “ and it is well for Sophia to have some one near like 
me, who will speak out what is unwelcome, as this is no time 
to be silent. She will soon see all that this world can do 
for her.” 

“ Be gentle, as well as apt to teach,” whispered Lady 
Howard, reproachfully. 

Lady Fitz-Patrick turned impatiently away, and Lady 
Olivia looked at Miss Neville with an expression of gentle 
remonstrance, saying, u W e shall see, Barbara, on this occa- 
sion, what God can do for those who trust in Him. Your 
prayers and mine have not been neglected, I am confident, 
while Sophia has been too ill to recommend herself to His 
care ; and now we must all unite in one common endeavor 
to see our own real state as sinners, and by fixing our affec- 
tions more devoutly than ever on His service and on Him 
self, to prepare our hearts for what His wisdom may ordain.” 

“ I wish you could hear dear Mr. Harvey on that subject,” 
interrupted Miss Neville ; u and I cannot but hope we may 
prevail on Sophia to see him some day soon.” Miss Bar- 
bara here laid a marked and melancholy emphasis on the 
word soon, and looked expressively at Lady Olivia, who 
appeared as if she were perfectly unconscious of her meaning. 

“ Pray, Barbara, how long have you attended Mr. Har- 
vey ?” asked Lady Howard, in a sneering tone. “ Last 
year you thought the only tolerable preacher in the world 
was ‘ dear’ Dr. Grange, and he had been recently promoted 
to your favor, vice Mr. M‘Tavish, who was then equally 
£ dear’ for the time. You appear to be of a new sect every 
season, and will probably become at last an Anything- Arian, 
which is the worst and last stage of all.” 

« If you only heard Mr. Harvey,” said Miss Neville, “ I 
am confident you would be quite carried off your feet by his 
eloquence.” 

“ Think you ; I prefer remaining on them,” replied Lady 
Howard, satirically ; “ I like all my feelings to stand on 
good solid ground. But, Barbara, I am going to make a 
very safe promise, which will never be claimed, — as soon as 
you can produce a well-authenticated certificate of having 
attended the same preacher for an entire year without wan- 
dering, I shall actually accompany you to hear him myself.” 

« A year is a long period to anticipate, when some of us 
may not perhaps live a month,” said Miss Neville, glancing 


206 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


towards Lady Fitz-Patrick. “ It is well for you all to be 
prepared ; and dear Mr. Harvey sweetly remarks, that every 
night in his life he rejoices to find himself a day nearer the 
time when all his troubles, vexations, and sorrows shall be 
ended.” 

“ That sounds to me extremely like peevishly quarrelling 
with the gifts and mercies of a bountiful Providence,” said 
Lady Howard, indignantly. u What right has Mr. Harvey 
to set up for afflictions and distresses, when he is, in fact, 
one of the most fortunate of men 1 from whom I would ex- 
pect rather to hear a hymn of thanksgiving than the lan- 
guage of complaint. As we are told that God loves a 
cheerful giver, He will surely be best pleased also with a 
cheerful receiver of what He is pleased to bestow ; and 
though St. Paul, amidst the most unprecedented dangers 
and sorrows, and after a miraculous vision of our Saviour, 
was longing to depart, yet life is always held up to us in 
Scripture as a gift we should be thankful for. Length of 
days is a promise attached to one of the commandments ; 
and even the good King Hezekiah prayed to have his pro- 
longed. I know it has become a sort of fashion with some 
of your set to talk of life as an intolerable burden ; but I 
should not suppose that those persons are best prepared for 
the blessings of heaven who are most discontented now. 
What do you say on the subject, Olivia ?” 

“ I think that, provided men are resigned to the will of 
God, they may have a preference either way ; but as death 
is a penalty for sin, it is a part of that penalty that we 
should fear it. To those who trust in the faith of a cruci- 
fied Saviour, and to the mercy of Almighty God, he has 
promised dying strength for a dying hour,” said Lady Oli- 
via. “ There are many things every day to wean a Chris- 
tian from the natural love of life ; for who would not long to 
be relieved from the power of sin and temptation ; but yet 
there is much communion with God to be enjoyed here, and 
great delight in viewing his works of creation and provi- 
dence. We must beware of presumptuous impatience; for 
we see, that even our blessed Saviour himself recalled his 
beloved Lazarus to earth, and thought it a benefit conferred 
to prolong his existence here, though none can doubt that 
the friend of Christ was prepared for glory. Let us there- 
fore humbly endeavor to follow the excellent advice of Mil- 
ton, ‘ Nor love thy life, nor hate it, but while thou liv’st, live 


Oil THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


207 


well : how long or short permit to Heav’n, and patiently 
attend thy dissolution.’ ” 

Lady Olivia Neville took an early opportunity of impart- 
ing to Lady Fitz-Patrick, with tender and considerate affec- 
tion, the apprehensions that were entertained by her medical 
attendants of a fatal termination to her malady ; and during 
the long and agitated silence which ensued on the part of 
her dying friend, she offered up inwardly the most fervent 
aspirations to God, for that strength and consolation from 
above, which she saw that no human power could be ade- 
quate to bring at such a moment. For several days after- 
wards Lady Fitz-Patrick continued to be wrapt up in solitary 
reflection, and shrunk from every attempt which was made 
to draw her into any expression of feeling ; but she earn- 
estly entreated Lady Olivia to remain with her, and never 
seemed at rest, except when she was in sight, or when her 
place was supplied by the gentle and affectionate Matilda 
Howard. One evening, at length, Lady Olivia overheard 
the voice of Lady Fitz-Patrick repeatedly murmuring to 
herself, in a low and solemn voice, “ Oh God ! have mercy 
on my soul !” till at length, moved beyond all power of for- 
bearance, she pressed the hand of her suffering friend in her 
own, and gazed into her countenance with a look of such 
tender affection, that it irresistibly asked for confidence. 

“ Olivia !” whispered Lady Fitz-Patrick, in a tone of deep 
despondency, u I have but one subject of pleasure to think 
of at this moment, and it is, that you will hereafter reap in 
a better world the reward of all your kindness to me here. 
I can now appreciate, in some degree, the anxiety and sor- 
row which my past life must have occasioned to a heart such 
as yours ; for who that loves another, and values an immor- 
tal soul, would not tremble to anticipate such a dying hour 
as mine ?” 

u Dearest Sophia ! why should you say so ?” replied Lady 
Olivia, bending over her pillow. “ It may yet be an hour 
of comfort, of peace, and even of joy. Oh ! do not hastily 
cast from you the offers of pardon, even in the eleventh 
hour, that the Gospel brings to all without exception.” 

“ Not to those who have rejected it during their whole 
lives, and would embrace it only when they have no other 
resource,” said Lady Fitz-Patriek. “No; the laborers in 
the vineyard had been waiting all day, and availed them- 
selves of the first opportunity that was offered them, but 
l have daily rejected many. The thief on the cross had 


208 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


never heard of Gospel mercy till the hour when he accepted 
it ; but what excuse is there for me ? I dare not think of 
it ! To look back on my past life fills me with remorse, and 
to look forward — oh ! I can see eternity in all its bound- 
less extent before me, and it is an eternity without hope !” 

“ Do not say so ; do not think so for a single moment, 
Sophia ! It is a device of Satan — in health he led you to 
presume, and in sickness he would teach you to despair ; 
but think of the mercy held out in the Gospel to every sin- 
ner, and remember that it is the first token of being fit to 
receive it, when we are conscious of our helpless necessity. 
Ask and ye shall receive ; seek and ye shall find. Call 
upon the Lord while he is near, and turn unto Him who 
will have compassion, and to your God, who will abundantly 
pardon.” 

“ Olivia ! if I had sooner felt your kindness as deeply as 
now, it would have been well for me,” said Lady Fitz-Pa- 
trick, mournfully ; “ but for my few remaining days I would 
avoid the agonies of unavailing repentance. If my sins 
seem so great and aggravated in my own eyes, what must 
they be in the sight of Him before whom the very heavens 
are unclean, and who charges his angels with folly.” 

“ True, Sophia, — most true ! and yet we, who feel our- 
selves heavy laden, are told where to find rest, and those 
who go to that certain refuge shall never be cast out,” re- 
plied Lady Olivia. “Do not view your own situation in 
the worst light, but remember the many promises which 
are held out to those who mourn for their guilt. It has 
been beautifully remarked, that our sins, which, like sha- 
dows, look small at the noon of life, like shadows also 
lengthen at its close ; but dark as they may all appear, we 
should be comforted by reflecting, 4 when trouble is near, 
God is not far off and that He who sent His Son to die 
for us when we were enemies, will surely not refuse pardon 
to those who seek for it with truth and sincerity in His own 
appointed way.” 

“ You recall to my mind those beautiful words which I 
have so often sung in church, with a careless, absent mind . 

“ ‘ As long as life its term extends, 

Hope’s blest dominion never ends ; 

For while the lamp holds out to burn, 

The greatest sinner may return.’ 

Oh why cannot I apply those words to myself, and cling to 
the mercy that they promise ! Tell me, Olivia, that I may 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT 


209 


venture to do so ! Say, if you can, though I have only be- 
gun to trim my lamp when the cry is heard, and the bride- 
groom is coming, that still you do not think the door is for- 
ever closed against me. Speak some comfort if it be possi- 
ble, for I know you would not deceive me, and my own 
thoughts are all dark, and confused, and desponding.” 

“ Dear Sophia, compose yourself ; such agitation may 
bring on a relapse, and I have much to say that will soothe 
and console you,” said Lady Olivia, affectionately. “ The 
whole Gospel is addressed to those who see their need of 
pardon, as you do now ; and can it be possible to think of 
the tears that our Saviour wept over the lost sinners of 
Jerusalem, without feeling confidence in His compassion, 
and in His willingness to forgive? It is not that we have 
to wait for God’s mercy, but He is waiting to be gracious to 
us ; and His language continually is, ‘ Turn ye ! turn ye ! 
why will ye die V Pray to him, then, Sophia ; let the whole 
language of your heart be prayer, and rest assured of a 
gracious answer ; for our very thoughts are heard in heav- 
en, and not a sigh of penitence can escape from your breast 
without gaining the sympathy of that holy and merciful 
Saviour, who yet retains 

“ ‘ A fellow feeling of our pains : 

And still remembers in the skies, 

His tears, his agonies, and cries.’ ” 

“ Speak on, Olivia ! why do you become silent ? I could 
listen forever, or at least during the few hours that remain 
to me on earth,” added Lady Fitz-Patrick, with a sudden 
alteration of voice. “ Let me hear all you can say, for my 
moments are numbered, and they are precious while you 
are here.” 

“ But we must be prudent in using your strength at 
present, and ought to pause, Sophia, though my heart is so 
full that I would willingly proceed to many more sources of 
encouragement which are still within our reach,” replied 
Lady Olivia. “ You have been the subject of my anxious 
solicitude for so many years, I have often been tempted to 
think, like the mother of St. Augustine, that it was impos- 
sible for the subject of so many prayers to be finally impeni- 
tent. I have lived to see all my hopes on the point of being 
accomplished ; and now, though I must speak to you no 
more for a time, I shall join my supplications to yours in 


210 


modern accomplishments, 


asking that the work of grace may be perfected in your heart 
before we are finally separated.” 

The countenance of Lady Olivia Neville assumed an ex- 
pression of serene and heavenly devotion, while she silently 
engaged in fervent prayer ; and Lady Fitz-Patrick’s eyes 
were fixed upon her with a look of grateful affection, until 
at length they heavily closed, with the languor of disease, 
and she fell into a feverish slumber, from which she did not 
awaken during the evening. 

From this time there was much that appeared hopeful to 
Lady Olivia in the temper and conversation of her interest- 
ing patient, who felt herself to be hovering between a pres- 
ent and future world, and who endeavored to place her 
trust in Him who rules over both. 

u Olivia,” said she one day, in a tone of nervous agita- 
tion, “I- awoke this morning perfectly free from pain, and 
unconscious of my peculiar circumstances, when suddenly 
the remembrance rushed into my thoughts that I was on 
my death-bed. It was a dreadful moment. Oh ! why is 
that fear of death so implanted in our hearts'? why are 
we not spared, like the animals, all consciousness of its ap- 
proach V* 

u Many have thought it holds out a tacit promise of im- 
mortality, that whereas the beasts which perish remain un- 
conscious of their inevitable doom, men are taught by their 
fears to anticipate the change and to prepare for it,” replied 
Lady Olivia. “ But a Christian can often, though not always, 
rise superior to nature, and view the nearest approach of 
death with calm and tranquil faith.” 

u I am convinced that you could, Olivia, and that at 
this moment you would take my place without one pang of 
regret ; but you have employed a lifetime to prepare for this 

one hour, and I ” added Lady Fitz-Patrick, closing her 

eyes with a look of speechless anguish, u Oh ! think, as 
Young says, of a ‘ slow sudden death’ like mine, ‘ how dread- 
ful the deliberate surprise,’ unprepared, unfit as I am!” 

“ But what does Young go on to say,” replied Lady 
Olivia, with solemn earnestness : “ 4 Be wise to-day, ’tis 
madness to defer,’ — you must not lose the time that remains, 
my dear Sophia, in lamenting that which is already gone, — 
your sorrow now is not without remedy, but hereafter, 
when time shall be no more, then our repentance will in- 
deed be hopeless. Now is the accepted time and now is the 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


211 


day of salvation, but we have no promise for another day 
and may not be allowed another hour for preparation.” 

“ If an implicit trust in Christ be sufficient, I feel it with 
my whole heart, for what other dependence could I look to,” 
said Lady Fitz-Patrick; “but if I am accepted, it is indeed 
unmerited mercy, for in myself I have no claim.” 

“ But. dear Sophia, can you suppose that at the day of 
judgment any human soul will have to say, I trusted in 
Christ and am rejected? — oh no! We may conceive how 
great was the work of redemption when we remember the 
world was created in six days, but it took four thousand 
years to prepare for the salvation of man ; and can we then 
trust in that too implicitly ?” 

It is to such gentle natures as that of Lady Olivia Neville 
that the task is a trying one of representing the judgments 
as well as the promises of God ; but she was not -one of 
those who could save her own feelings at the hazard of an- 
other person’s welfare, or be satisfied with seeing her friends 
building upon any foundation of which they had not cau- 
tiously ascertained the security. During many long and 
interesting conversations, she pointed out to Lady Fitz- 
Patrick, with unwearied fidelity, the means of our salvation. 
She showed in strong colors the undeviating holiness and 
self-denial which are essential in a disciple of the cross, and 
she took peculiar pains to convince Lady Fitz-Patrick that 
no mere temporary excitements can deserve the name of 
religion, for it is only to be recognized in that work of the 
Holy Spirit, which produces a calm and steady principle, 
influencing the whole character and conduct. 

“ Our Saviour, standing as Mediator between God and 
man, holds out on the one side pardon, but on the other 
side, there must be obedience ; for he is our king as well as 
our prophet and priest, and no mere temporary excitements 
can suffice,” observed Lady Olivia. “ You may observe, 
amongst the friends who surround us, that we prize most 
the affection which is fixed and unalterable ; but those who 
show us great vicissitudes of fervent affection at one time, 
and of comparative coldness at another, are generally, when 
put to the test, very little to be depended on.” 

« True,” replied Lady Fitz-Patrick ; “ and how different 
is your description of real religion from the idea that my 
poor sister Barbara would wish to give me of it. I can bear 
with her now, Olivia ! for I pity her, as I pity every one who 
is not like you, and I believe she means well by me at pres- 


212 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


ent ; but she is never satisfied, unless I am in a state of 
vehement emotion, and complains of my coldness when I 
feel incapable of rousing myself to the most fervent expres- 
sions of repentance and devotion. There is something so 
tempestuous in Barbara’s religion, that I greatly fear she 
will some day be shipwrecked altogether.” 

“ It is surely a very mistaken view of what we should aim 
at,” said Lady Olivia. “ The promise of Christ to his dis- 
ciples is ‘peace.’ 1 Peace I leave with you, my peace I give 
unto you and who that knows the serenity of a heart at 
peace with God, would exchange such a blessing for all the 
passionate raptures of a heated imagination. It is easy for 
people to excite in themselves that sort of temporary intoxi- 
cation ; but it is not in the strength of man to persevere 
without assistance, in a consistent path of holiness and self- 
denial.” 

“ You will be gratified, my best and kindest friend, to 
know,” said Lady Fitz-Patrick, 11 that I have felt more truly 
tranquil for the last few days than I ever remember to have 
been throughout my whole life. The sufferings of the body 
are nothing compared to those of the mind, and that is the 
exchange I seem to have made now, for I have found what 
was always wanting to me before, an object sufficiently im- 
portant to engross my whole thoughts and affections, — 
mine have all been hitherto wasted on what has perished 
in the using. How strange it is to reflect, that I cannot 
so much as remember now, many things which once occu- 
pied me far more than the salvation of my immortal soul ; 
and that till now I have been only acting happiness, not 
enjoying it.” 

“It has often occurred to me,” answered Lady Olivia, 
“ that as past pleasures vanish so completely from our recol- 
lection, so also do our past transgressions ; and I frequently 
make it the subject of my prayers, that God will mercifully 
pardon all my forgotten sins, which are probably far more 
numerous than those that I have observed and repented of. 
For all of these there must be an atonement, either in the 
propitiation of our Saviour now, or else in our own everlast- 
ing condemnation on that awful day, when not one of our 
offences will escape the remembrance of Him whose eye is 
in every place.” 

“ Is it not truly astonishing, then, that there should yet 
be mercy for me ? but I feel it to be the case,” continued 
Lady Fitz-Patrick, in a tone of heartfelt emotion. “ I may 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


213 


yet be permitted to retrace back a whole lifetime of vanity, 
and to see every year of its offences blotted out, and my fol- 
lies all to be ‘remembered no more.’ I believe few are in 
circumstances to make them feel more deeply than I do at 
this moment the unspeakable mercy of the Gospel. In your 
society, Olivia, I have often had a transient wish to become 
such a one as yourself ; but the prayer of my heart was like 
that of St. Augustine, ‘ Let me be converted, but not yet.’ 
I delayed from day to day, from week to week, and from 
year to year ; but now, every hour that strikes brings me 
visibly nearer to the presence of God. Were his ways like 
the ways of man, I should be shut out forever from peace, 
and hopelessly and most deservedly rejected.” 

“ But it was well observed by an ancient author,” said 
Lady Olivia, in an encouraging tone, “ That it might tire the 
hand of an angel to note down the pardons that God bestows 
on one penitent sinner ; and if we can but cast a dying look 
of faith to the cross of the Redeemer, we shall still be like 
the children of Israel, who saw the brazen serpent and were 
healed.” 

At this moment Sir Richard Fitz-Patrick entered, and 
his unexpected appearance changed the current of the con- 
versation, though it was not without a sigh of regret that 
Lady Fitz-Patrick relinquished a discussion of that which 
seemed the only topic in which she now had any personal 
interest. 

Nothing was so much the subject of Sir Richard’s care as 
to prevent Lady Olivia from ever being left a moment alone 
with the invalid ; for he felt a sort of general misgiving, that 
though she on no occasion intruded the subject of religion 
on his own notice, she might be putting such things into 
Lady Fitz-Patrick’s head, and he was resolved, that as far 
as he could accomplish it, she should leave the world with- 
out any previous apprehension ; and with respect to what 
might befall her hereafter, it never rested a moment in his 
thoughts. “What a happy release it will be!” was Sir 
Richard’s usual phrase, which he applied habitually to every 
acquaintance he had indiscriminately, whenever their death 
seemed inevitable ; and though he had used the expression 
all his life, he never took the trouble of attaching any par- 
ticular meaning to it ; but in the case of Lady Fitz-Patrick. 
he seemed resolutely determined to persuade himself and 
her that she was in a fair way of recovery. 

“ Ah, Sophia ! you are continuing better I hope,” said he 


214 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


avoiding to look at her emaciated countenance. “We want 
nothing but a little warm weather to set you quite up again, 
and the new chariot will be home in time for your first 
airing.” 

A thought glanced across the mind of Lady Fitz-Patrick 
that it would be in a scene which Sir Richard seemed little 
to anticipate that his carriage would next be required ; but 
unwilling to give him unnecessary pain, she merely smiled, 
and thanked him for his considerate attention to what she 
had once been so anxious for. But she resolved to take an 
early opportunity of imparting to him her serious conviction 
that she had but a short time to live upon the earth, and to 
express all her wishes respecting her children, and her deep 
solicitude upon his own account. There was an expression 
of unwonted sensibility in the eye of Lady Fitz-Patrick 
when she looked at him, and something touching in the tone 
of her voice, which was obvious to the most superficial ob- 
server ; and Sir Richard, who dreaded above all things any- 
thing approaching to a scene, prudently resolved to make an 
early retreat. 

“I am glad to have found you so well, Sophia,” he said, 
trying not to hear her incessant cough. “ My friend Sir 
Colin Fletcher, has sent me a haunch of venison this morn- 
ing, and I must drop in at the club, to pick i p a few friends, 
who would like to partake of it next week. Perhaps you 
may be sufficiently recovered before then to join our little 
party ; and in the meantime here come Eleanor and Matilda 
to supply my place beside you.” 

“ Poor Fitz-Patrick !” said the invalid, as he hastened 
from the room ; u he always had the art of seeing and be- 
lieving only what he pleased ; and as long as I breathe he 
will expect me to recover.” 

“ But I almost think, mamma, that you might be well, if 
you would only think yourself so ; for I have very often 
had coughs that seemed quite as bad,” remarked Eleanor ; 
u and, indeed, I never thought you would have submitted 
to be quacked in this way,” added she, making a transient 
grimace of disgust to Matilda, as she glanced towards the 
dressing-table, which was loaded with phials of medicine, 
while the room smelt powerfully of fumigations ; but Ma- 
tilda busied herself in arranging some flowers which she 
had brought in her hand, without appearing to observe what 
Was said. 

“ How rarely you come to see me now, Eleanor !” ob- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


215 


served Lady Fitz-Patrick, in a tone of heart-stricken grief. 
“ It is when I see you, my child, that I feel all the bitter- 
ness of death. I could have wished to live a few more 
years for your sake, to undo my own work ; for now, alas ! 
I feel how truly I have ruined your heart ; and that, if you 
are less affectionate than might have been expected, the 
fault is mine. Yes, Eleanor ! I reap as I have sown. This 
world only has been continually set before you ; and can I 
wonder that it has engrossed your affections, even to the 
exclusion of myself? How often did I say that your ap- 
pearance and accomplishments were all on earth that I felt 
solicitous about ; and my utmost wishes have been granted, 
only to show me their unjustifiable folly. I have been an- 
swered, like the Indian who prayed for water, and found 
the whole Granges turned into his garden. You have ex- 
ceeded all I ever expected or desired. The shell is indeed 
lovely, Eleanor ; but, alas ! for the heart that can look upon 
a dying mother, and yet leave her to the care of another, 
as young, but more affectionate than yourself.” 

“ I am very sorry, mamma, to have been prevented all 
this morning from coming to see you,” stammered Eleanor, 
in great confusion ; u but I breakfasted with Lady Amelia 
Douglas, who detained me to luncheon, and yesterday you 
know how much I was engaged — ” 

“ Yes, Eleanor! yes!” replied Lady Fitz-Patrick, taking 
her by the hand, and looking in her face with an expression 
of the tenderest pity ; 11 1 never told you that it was a duty 
or a pleasure to sacrifice your wishes for another, and why 
should I expect you to have learned it ? I have been hasty, 
my child ; but the time is fast approaching when all your 
mother’s faults will be forgiven. I trust they will not be 
forgotten, though, Eleanor, as they may yet be a timely 
warning to yourself.” 

It was one evening during the following week that Elea 
nor was about to withdraw from her mother’s room, at the 
usual hour for retiring, when Matilda followed to the 
door, and anxiously entreated her to return. “We think 
my aunt much worse to-night,” said she ; “ and as Dr. 
Mansfield seemed rather apprehensive himself, you would 
of course wish to stay, in case she has any very serious re- 
lapse.” % 

u How very extraordinary that you should be so alarmed !’ 
replied Eleanor, pausing. “ Mamma appears to me par- 
ticularly well this evening ; for her eyes and color are per- 


216 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


fectly brilliant, and her voice sounds clearer than it has done 
for several days. I think yc u must be mistaken ; and 
I was up so late last night at the concert, that you would 
need to hold my eyelids open if I were to remain much 
longer ; but I shall send Louise to inquire in half an hour 
how you think mamma is.” 

Matilda stole silently back into her aunt’s room, and took 
up a book to beguile the time, while she waited with Lady 
Olivia, in painful apprehension, for the time when Dr. 
Mansfield had thought it probable that Lady Fitz-Patrick 
vniglit have one of those alarming attacks of breathlessness 
to which she had recently become liable. No words can 
describe the night of fearful agony which ensued, during 
which Matilda knelt for hours on the bed, to support the 
almost unconscious sufferer, who knew not the hand that 
was ever ready to administer to her wants, though still the 
soothing voice of Lady Olivia Neville seemed to give her 
comfort when she whispered words of consolation, or when 
she offered up a short, but emphatic prayer, for help in this 
hour of extremity. 

When Eleanor entered Lady Fitz-Patrick’s room on the 
following morning, she found her mother supported almost 
erect upon pillows, and clasping the hand of Lady Olivia 
Neville with a look of intense suffering, while her loud and 
convulsive breathing seemed as if the next moment must 
terminate her existence. Eleanor Fitz-Patrick stood as if 
eke were transfixed to the spot with terror when she glanced 
at her mother’s countenance, on which the gray, cold hue 
of death was already gathering, and uttering a sudden cry 
of astonishment and grief, she rushed forward, throwing 
herself on the bed, and burst into an agony of tears. Un- 
conscious of all around, she wrung her hands, and sobbed 
aloud, with vehement and frantic grief, while her whole 
frame seemed to be convulsed with agitation, and the words 
she would have spoken were inarticulate, and died on her 
lips. It was the first time she had felt the irresistible con- 
viction that her mother was lost to her forever, and it burst 
upon her with all the accumulated anguish of a sudden sur- 
prise. The thought of it had never before been allowed to 
dwell on her mind for a moment, and now she felt the blow 
with all the bitterness of hopeless and unexpected grief. 
It was the first sorrow she had ever known — the deepest 
that nature could have called her to endure, — and in a par- 
oxysm of amazement and terror, she buried her face on the 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


217 


pillow beside Lady Eitz-Patrick, and fell into a violent fit. 
of hysterics, which she could not attempt to conquer or con 
trol. 

“ Take her away ! take her away !” gasped the expiring 
sufferer. “ Oh ! take her away, or I shall die, — it kills me 
to see her thus. Give her comfort if you can, Olivia, but 
take her from me now.” 

Eleanor was hastily removed by the attendants, and borne 
almost fainting from the room, followed by Matilda, who 
tried, with all the gentleness of her nature, to soothe and 
compose her agitated and afflicted cousin. 

“ Dearest Eleanor, your mother will live for some time 
yet ; there is no instant danger,” said she, clasping her 
weeping friend in her arms and bursting into tears. 
“This has been a frightful shock! we ought to have pre- 
pared you better, but I was coming to your room as soon as 
possible to break it to you ; be comforted, dear Eleanor, for 
she will not always suffer as you see her now, she will be 
easier soon.” 

“ Do not speak of comfort to me, Matilda ; I shall see 
that face, that look of mortal agony, to the very borders of 
the grave,” cried Eleanor, covering her face with her hands, 
and shuddering at the recollection. “ I hear her breathing 
even here ! — dreadful ! dreadful ! death itself would be pre- 
ferable to what I feel at this moment !” 

“ Oh no, Eleanor ! there is consolation for you if you will 
but receive it. Think that your mothor is safe, — that she 
will be happy, — that time has been given her to prepare, 
and that your loss, great as it is, will be a gain to her. 
Those only can be said to weep, who weep without hope ; 
but you, dear Eleanor, will at least feel how much cause 
there is to rejoice, as well as to mourn ; 1 weeping may en- 
dure for a night,’ as the Scriptures say, ‘ but joy cometh in 
the morning.’ ” 

u Matilda, you may well be comforted, for you have acted 
the part of a daughter, but I can only feel like one. Oh 
no ! you can never experience the wretchedness of unavail- 
ing self-reproach, — she is dying, and I can never, never 
show her kindness and affection again. It is an awful 
thing to live in such a world as this !” exclaimed Eleanor, 
clasping her hands with an expression of helpless anguish. 
11 Hitherto I have known life only in a mask, but these are 
its realities.” 

“ We have seen good at the hand of the Lord these many 
10 


218 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


years, dear Eleanor, and shall we not receive evil also ; 
without forgetting His former mercies ? it comes to us 
now in its saddest form, and so unexpectedly ; but yet we 
should remember that it is those whom God loves the best 
that he chastises, for He sees that we need it. You know 
it was the language only of human pride, 4 1 shall see no 
sorrow ;’ but Christians are told that their sufferings, which 
are but for a moment, are ordered to prepare them for an 
eternity of joy ; and I cannot but think, Eleanor, that this 
sharp affliction has been sent on a mission of mercy to you 
and to me, teaching us both an early lesson of measuring 
time against eternity, and choosing between them. Oh 
think ! if these sufferings, which appear to us now so dread- 
ful, are indeed sent as testimonies of love, what would it be 
to sustain God’s eternal and unmitigated vengeance % All 
we can know of misery on earth is but the faint shadow of 
that from which the Son of God has redeemed our souls, if 
we will but hear his message of mercy ; and the more deeply 
you feel distress and self-reproach at this moment, the more 
eagerly should we try to avoid it hereafter, by seeking sup- 
port and direction from above at a time like the present, 
when we need it so much, and when I am sure it would be 
given you, with unsparing abundance, by the merciful hand 
of Him who has told us to 4 call upon Him in the day of 
trouble, and He will deliver us, and we shall find rest unto 
our souls.’ ” 

The sweet and gentle tones of Matilda’s voice fell upon 
the ear of Eleanor Fitz-Patrick with a soothing influence, 
and though but little of what she said was noticed or com- 
prehended by her painfully pre-occupied mind, yet the en- 
dearing and affectionate manner of our heroine seemed as 
refreshing to her heart as the dew of heaven upon the 
parched and desolate wilderness. The tempest in Eleanor’s 
mind became stilled, the throbbings of her bosom had ceased, 
and her eye was assuming an expression of interest and at- 
tention, when Miss Neville suddenly entered the room, 
looking more than usually excited and consequential. 

44 So, Eleanor,” she exclaimed, “ with all these fine feel- 
ings, you have nearly put an end to your mother altogether ! 
It is sad, indeed, to see such an undisciplined mind ; but 
I always told poor Sophia what it would come to if she did 
not take my advice more in your education. I have only to 
say at present, that the doctor declares you must on no ac- 
count return to the room again, as the least excitement would 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


219 


be instantly fatal, and it is only wonderful that your last 
visit did not prove so at once. I hope at least that you 
have the heart to feel this as you ought.” 

Matilda looked imploringly at Miss Neville to stop the 
current of her reproaches, but Eleanor clasped her arms 
round the neck of our heroine, saying, in accents of mourn- 
ful despondency, “ Do not stop her, Matilda ! Aunt Bar- 
bara’s upbraidings are more tolerable to me than those of 
my own heart. I deserve all she can say, and more if it 
were possible.” 

Miss Neville looked for a moment at her niece with sur- 
prise, and, struck by the change in her aspect and the an- 
guish of her voice, she hesitated what to do, and then silent- 
ly left the room, while Eleanor relapsed into a state of the 
wildest agitation, and wept in the arms of Matilda through 
many an hour of dark and hopeless sorrow, unable to extin- 
guish from her memory the agonizing picture of her mother’s 
altered countenance and expiring struggles. 

u Dear Eleanor ! let us try to look beyond this hour of 
suffering, and to recollect what an exchange it will be from 
the scene of agony you witnessed, to an eternity of glory 
and happiness,” said Matilda, embracing her ; “ we may 
well mourn for ourselves, but all will soon be over that she 
has to endure. How consoling it is at this moment to re- 
member, that 

“ * The path of sorrow, and that path alone, 

Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.’ ” 

For some days Lady Fitz-Patrick was reduced to such ex- 
treme debility, that her mind wandered in a continual state 
of delirium, so that she recognized no one; and Eleanor, at 
the earnest instigation of Lady Olivia, again ventured into 
the room, and sat by the bedside of her mother in silent 
wretchedness and depression, which it required the whole 
fortitude of her nature to endure. 

Often did Lady Fitz-Patrick’s wandering thoughts recur 
to the scenes of former days, when she talked of gay par- 
ties and entertainments, which she fancied it was time for 
her to rise and rejoin. She spoke of her daughter at one 
time with the vanity of former days, and the next moment 
she mourned over her unkindness and neglect. Scenes of 
amusement so painfully brought to Eleanor’s thoughts were 
now remembered with loathing, and she wondered to think 


220 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


how entirely they had once engrossed and satisfied all her 
wishes. 

“ There are, indeed, awful moments in our existence, Ma- 
tilda, to remind us of what we are,” said she one evening, 
placing her trembling hand in that of her cousin. “ I have 
lived the last few years of my life with scarcely a thought 
to remind me of the great and holy God, who can 1 shake 
the very heavens over our heads, and the earth beneath our 
feet,’ but can I ever forget the solemn lesson of this sad 
hour ?” 

At length one evening Lady Fitz-Patrick was suddenly 
restored to perfect consciousness — all suffering seemed to 
be suspended — she breathed with apparent ease, and her 
cough had entirely ceased ; so that, with the sanguine dis- 
position of youth, Eleanor’s spirits rose, and snatching at 
the first gleam of hope, she kissed her mother’s cheek, whis- 
pering her prayers and her expectations that such a change 
for the better must certainly be followed by a rapid recovery. 

Lady Fitz-Patrick looked at Eleanor with mournful earn- 
estness, and shook her head; “No, my child,” said she, 
solemnly, “ this is death ! Tell me, Dr. Mansfield.” added 
she, turning towards the place were he sat, “ how long is it 
probable that I may survive ? for the period of my suffer- 
ings must be near.” 

“ Can you bear to be told the real truth ?” asked the doc- 
tor, doubtfully. “ I am most unwilling to cause any agita- 
tion at present, as I scarcely think you are able to bear it ; 
and I trust and believe you have little more to suffer.” 

“ I wish to know your whole opinion without disguise,” 
replied Lady Fitz-Patrick, in a calm, collected tone of 
voice. 

“ Then, madam, I must inform you, that from the symp- 
toms which have recently appeared, it is extremely improb- 
able you can live to see another day.” 

Lady Fitz-Patrick covered her face with her hands, and 
a solemn pause ensued. The most death-like silence reigned 
throughout the room, which was only broken by deep sobs 
from Eleanor, who threw herself into the arms of Lady 
Olivia, sure of finding there all the sympathy and support 
which she so greatly needed. The awful silence was first 
broken by Lady Fitz-Patrick herself, who fixed her eyes on 
the pale and sorrowful countenances around, and finally 
rested them with melancholy tenderness on Sir Richard 
and Eleanor. “ Let me look for the last time upon those I 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


221 


love, and bless them with my latest breath,” she said. 
“ Before that setting sun appears again, I shall see you no 
more ! the veil will be withdrawn which hides eternity from 
my sight, and I shall have appeared in the presence of my 
Maker ! Oh ! how often have I seen it rise and set without 
a thought how soon it must light me to the tomb. Olivia! 
the best friend I have ever known ! think what a dark 
eternity would now have stretched out before me, if you 
had not led me to the knowledge of a Saviour. Amidst all 
your past sorrows, this is surely something to have lived 
for ! I believe it is as great a trial to you to have your life 
prolonged, as it is to others when theirs is shortened, but 
you have a heart to feel rewarded now, for your prayers 
have been answered.” 

Large tears started into the eyes of Lady Olivia Neville, 
and coursed each other down her cheeks, — she made a 
powerful struggle for some moments to subdue her feelings, 
but at length, overcome with emotion, she sunk back upon 
her chair and wept aloud. 

“ The time was once, Olivia, when your tears would have 
moved me deeply,” continued Lady Fitz-Patrick, in a calm 
voice ; “ but now, the apathy of death is stealing over my 
senses, and I must hasten to a close. I leave my daughter 
to your care, and may she soon owe as much to you as I do, 
for my sole remaining wish is, that she may live and die 
such a one as yourself. Oh ! why did I not sooner know 
wherein her happiness would consist ! for it is the nearest 
approach that sinners can make to a state of retribution, 
when they see the mischief of their advice and example to 
those they love, and when they see it as I do, too late.” 

“Not so!” interrupted Lady Olivia, in a soothing tone; 
‘‘ there is yet time. Commit your child to the care of a 
merciful Grod, and be at peace. The prayer that you make 
for her now will be heard and answered hereafter ; and be 
assured, Sophia, that I shall fulfil your sacred trust to the 
best of my ability. In so far as Eleanor will allow me, I 
shall supply a mother’s care and affection to her.” 

“ And more ! oh ! far more !” exclaimed Lady Fitz- 
Patrick. “ I have already explained my wishes to Sir 
Richard, and he is now so buried in grief, I see he cannot 
listen to me ; but he knows that my whole peace of mind 
rests on the hope of your repairing all my errors towards 
Eleanor. My beloved child,” continued she, gathering up 
her remaining energy to address her daughter, “ never- 


222 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


never forget this scene ; and remember that the only words 
of wisdom your mother ever addressed to you were from 
her dying bed. It seems to me but yesterday, that I was 
such a one as yourself, full of bright hopes and sanguine 
expectations. Oh, Eleanor ! will you be taught by my ex- 
perience, or must you reach such a state as this before you 
learn that the world is transient as a summer cloud ; and 
that all which is substantial or important is comprehended 
in that one word eternity. The whole created universe could 
not hold me back for a single moment from the summons 
that awaits me, — in a few hours my eyes will be closed for- 
ever. Let me hear you say, E'eanor, before I die, that we 
shall meet again ; and let our prayers be united for the last 
time that it may be so.” 

Lady Fitz-Patrick sunk back exhausted, but her lips 
moved in fervent supplication, and she fixed her eyes on Sir 
Richard and Eleanor with a look of mournful interest. 
Gradually her strength seemed to sink, her pulse became 
imperceptible, her breath was inaudible, and it appeared as if 
life were totally extinct ; when she suddenly opened her eyes 
for an instant, and placing Eleanor’s hand in that of Lady 
Olivia, she pointed towards heaven with a momentary gleam 
of satisfaction, and expired without a struggle in the arms 
of Sir Richard. 

When Eleanor stood next day beside the corpse of her 
mother, and gazed with intolerable anguish on that counte- 
nance which had so often beamed upon her with indulgent 
kindness and partial affection, every moment of her past 
existence seemed to rush in busy remembrance to her 
thoughts, filled with the most touching proofs of tender af- 
fection, and a thousand instances of her own petulance and 
ingratitude stung her to the heart with bitter remorse. She 
then felt that all her past^omissions were now irreparable, 
and the trifling irritations which had seemed at the moment 
to justify her, were forever expunged from her memory. 
All seemed desolate and forlorn within her breast, from 
which she felt as if peace and joy were finally banished. 
“ Oh ! that she could but return to me for one hour !” 
thought she, in the bitterness of her heart. li Oh ! that I 
could but once tell her, that my heart is breaking with sor- 
row and remorse.” 

Lady Olivia Neville and Matilda watched over Eleanor 
with unwearied kindness. In a thousand ways they saved 
her feelings, and anticipated her wishes, apparently forget- 


OR THE MARCH OF- INTELLECT. 


223 


ting their own sorrow in sympathy for hers ; and the con- 
sciousness of such kindness was a soothing balm to her agi- 
tated spirit, especially as their considerate attention resem- 
bled that of Job’s friends when he was first afflicted: 
“ They spoke not a word, for they saw that her grief was 
great.” 

Lady Howard had but little time to consider her niece’s 
feelings, because she was so busy about her mournings ; and 
all the distracting bustle which usually succeeds a death in 
any family, devolved upon her willing hands. She answered 
letters of condolence on the broadest black-edged paper, and 
in the most beautifally-turned periods: gave directions 
about the interment, and laid down the law upon crape and 
bombazeens to such a succession of milliners, that casual 
observers might have supposed it was for a wedding rather 
than a funeral that Lady Howard was preparing, and that 
the depth of her own grief and Eleanor’s would be estimated 
precisely according to the depth of their hems. Matilda 
was astonished to find how much it was absolutely necessary 
to say and think upon the subject, as she had never before 
experienced any family distress ; and had imagined that the 
world itself would seem to stand still on such an occasion ; 
but, on the contrary, she was incessantly called off from the 
affecting recollection of her departed relative, or from the 
interesting task of consoling Eleanor, by imperative calls, 
to show her respect for Lady Fitz-Patrick’s memory, in de- 
ciding whether her frills should be of crepe lisse or tulle , and 
whether her bonnet looked best transparent or opaque. 

“ Maria,” said Sir Francis, one day, peeping over Lady 
Howard’s shoulder, when she wa-s in the agonies of compo- 
sition, writing an elegant effusion of sensibility to her friend 
Lady Montague, u when I die, pray omit that favorite 
sentence in all your letters about having ‘quitted these sub- 
lunary scenes.’ I have a particular dislike to all such hack- 
neyed phrases being used about me, in the same degree that 
I cherish an antipathy to the immense bows of black crape 
which every Scotchman who can call himself your cousin, 
will feel privileged to mount upon the back of his hat, and 
to parade through the streets after my decease. Here is a 
Mr. Macindoe dead in to-day’s newspaper, 1 much and justly 
regretted,’ which I dare say he is, and you will see all the 
Macindoes, if there are any such people, flaunting about 
next week in enormous bows, and probably writing, like 


224 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


you, about his having ‘ quitted these sublunary scenes. 
Poor Sophia would have been the first to laugh at your 
splendid epitaph ; but one genuine tear is, in my humble 
opinion, worth a whole quire of such sensibility. I have 
always disliked the Oh and Alas style of composition.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


225 


CHAPTER XIV. 


“Alas ! all must for death prepare! 

What has he left, and who’s his heir V’ 


Eleanor Fitz-Patrick felt oppressed with the sense of a 
dreary insufficiency within herself to regain a gleam of 
former peace. The chain which had bound her to the earth 
seemed suddenly broken, and the world was no longer, in 
her eyes, only a scene of joy, where she was to act a few 
splendid triumphs, and to live through an unclouded sum- 
mer of youth and happiness. She had hitherto been wan- 
dering in the mazes of a romance, as unlike sober sad 
reality as a mirage in the desert ; but now its illusions 
seemed all to be dispelled, and as one of Lady Fitz-Patrick’s 
last actions had been to part with Miss Marabout, who was 
immediately engaged as “ finishing governess ” at Lady 
Montague’s, Eleanor lost at once all the resources in which 
she had formerly found relief from reflection, and nothing 
remained but a depressing void within, which was succeeded 
by listless despondency, so dark and cheerless, that she 
gladly turned to the conversation of her aunt as a relief 
from her own desolate feelings, though the interest she took 
in what was said, seemed so faint and uncertain, that it 
would have discouraged any heart less sanguine and less 
patient than Lady Olivia Neville’s, who nevertheless con- 
tinued perseveringly to adapt herself to the varying spirits 
of her beloved charge, and to direct her thoughts as much 
as possible to every topic that could be expected to cheer 
and console her, in the remembrance so continually present, 
of that departed mother whose loss she seemed every day 
more acutely to deplore. 

“ Let us follow her in thought, to that world where she 
is now rejoicing, Eleanor, and where we shall probably so 
soon rejoin her,” said Lady Olivia, one day, in reply to an 
observation of her niece’s. “ We think but vaguely of any 
distant country which has merely been described to us, but 
when one of our own family has gone there, what a new in- 


226 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


terest is attached to it, and now is our time to reflect upon 
that place of spirits to which youi mother has been called. 
I have never yet lost any dear friend without the consola- 
tion of thinking them so truly prepared for heaven, that 
there we shall meet again , and I would part with every one 
I love upon earth, to feel the same blessed assurance on their 
account, for I cannot but tell you how often, when I lay my- 
self down to rest at night, it is with the most joyful antici- 
pation of that hour when the glories of heaven shall first be 
revealed to my emancipated soul. We are too apt to imagine, 
Eleanor, that the rest which is promised to us in future, is 
1 that of a stone at the bottom of a well but the Scriptures, 
on the contrary, teach us to anticipate it as a state of active 
enjoyment, in which all the purest pleasures of our nature 
will be continued without the possibility of sin or sorrow 
ever invading our happiness again. Who that has felt the 
wretchedness of conscious guilt would not acknowledge that 
there is no suffering equal to it, and that, to be delivered 
from sin is really to be freed from the chief misery of exist- 
ence ?” 

“ The more we become fitted for heaven, Eleanor, the 
more grievous appears our smallest offence against God, for 
the feelings of a Christian in this respect are compared to 
the sensitiveness that people acquire about the cleanliness 
of their dress. A fine lady will feel more pain at the small- 
est speck on her gown, than a sloven will do who is an ob- 
ject of disgust to the most casual observer ; and a Christian 
is often in the depths of affliction for some defect or omis- 
sion which another who was less conscientious would scarcely 
notice, but which, in his case, makes him long the more 
eagerly for that time when he shall join the spirits of the 
just made perfect. Now is the crisis of your life, Eleanor, 
whether to begin early that course of pure and holy devotion 
which no one on his death-bed has ever been known to re- 
gret having pursued, or whether you will relapse into the 
same course of idle self-indulgence and thoughtless extrava- 
gance, against which your mother’s last words were designed 
to warn you. My heart sinks with anxiety when I reflect 
that you have still the choice to make. Hitherto affliction 
has not led your heart to God, — you are overwhelmed with 
grief, but not yet seeking the remedy, — your whole soul ap- 
pears enervated, but you might find strength by seeking it 
aright. — your life passes on without object, but there might 
be a motive sufficient to invigorate your exertions, — your 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


227 


time is unoccupied, but it is time given for an important 
purpose, — your affections, which are now blighted by the 
loss of your dearest earthly friend, might be fixed on One 
who would never leave you nor forsake you. I pray for you, 
Eleanor ! Oh ! do not forget that the sorrow of the world 
worketh death.” 

Lady Olivia Neville’s words were listened to with re- 
spectful attention by her niece, but they seldom appeared 
to excite more interest than if they were spoken in some 
foreign language that she did not understand ; still she was 
so totally unaccustomed to examine into her own motives 
and feelings, that Eleanor fully believed that she had become 
in her own mind all that Lady Olivia could possibly wish. 
The pomps and vanities of a present world seemed to have 
lost their attraction, and therefore she fancied that it was 
religion which had raised her above their influence ; and she 
beguiled her solitary hours by forming fanciful schemes of 
benevolence which proceeded, she thought, from the charity 
of a renewed heart. If Eleanor Fitz-Patrick’s situation had 
continued unchanged, it is probable that the gradual influ- 
ence of Lady Olivia’s affectionate counsel, and the example 
of Matilda’s active habits, might have made a permanent 
impression on her mind, and led her to see and acknowledge, 
that of all the miseries in existence, a life without* duties 
and without occupations is the greatest. But a sudden and 
unexpected change about this time took place in Eleanor’s 
circumstances, which altered the whole current of her 
thoughts and of her future prospects. 

Sir Philip Barnard had frequently declared that he could 
not exist in the foggy climate of Britain ; but still nothing 
was farther from his thoughts than actual death, when he 
was seized with a' sudden apoplexy one day after dinner, 
and expired without a groan, to the grief and consternation 

of his solicitor, who had been engaged for some time 

in drawing up a will, in which the bulk of his fortune had 
been bequeathed to Matilda Howard, with a few trifling 
legacies to his friends and to his agent, but in which the 
name of Eleanor Fitz-Patrick was unaccountably omitted. 
As this last settlement, however, had the trifling deficiency 
of being neither signed nor witnessed, recourse was naturally 
had to Sir Philip’s previous will, which he had forgotten to 
cancel, and in which Eleanor Fitz-Patrick was named, after 
her deceased mother, as the heiress to his estates of Barnard 
Castle in Inverness-shire, and Enderby Hall in Cumberland 


228 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


both of which she was to inherit unconditionally on her 
coming of age, though, in the meantime, she was placed as 
a ward in chancery, and under the personal guardianship of 
Sir Richard Fitz-Patrick, or, failing him, of her nearest 
male relative. 

To describe the unbounded raptures of Eleanor at the 
news of her immense succession, would baffle all power of 
language ; and she seemed at once transported into fairy- 
land, where the wildest dreams of her imagination were to 
be at once and perpetually realized. Visions floated before 
her brain of presentations at court, excursions abroad, and 
living like a feudal queen in the Highlands. Her mind was 
like a kaleidoscope, which varied its glittering prospects 
with magical celerity, and a shining galaxy of diamond 
ornaments and sparkling jewels crowned the whole, accom- 
panied by the distant expectation of seeing countless coro- 
nets laid at her feet. Eleanor’s state of excitement became 
so great, that she could scarcely sit still during the day, or 
close her eyes during the night, but wandered about in a 
continual ferment of ecstacy. 

“ You are worn out with too much pleasure, Eleanor, like 
the prisoners who were smothered with perfumes,” said 
Lady Olivia, one evening, seeing the young heiress look 
rather ‘exhausted. “ I have waited in the anxious hope that 
when your first surprise was over, my dear girl, some more 
important thoughts would arise upon the danger and real 
duties of your new situation; but I am disappointed in jmu 
still, Eleanor,” added her aunt, mournfully. “ No touch of 
seriousness appears yet arising, to remind you that money is 
only a means, and that unless we pursue some great and 
important purpose with it, better far never to have incurred 
the deep responsibility of possessing that which must be so 
powerful an engine for good or for evil. I hear no plans for 
the advantage of others, no generous nor liberal things 
devised; but all you anticipate savors only of personal 
aggrandizement. Had I been the friend to announce your 
good fortune, as the world calls it, I could scarcely have 
wished you joy. In my own experience, the most unhappy 
people have always been the richest, because they were 
satiated with such pleasures as their wealth could buy, and 
had not the heart to seek those that were better ; sur- 
rounded with sycophants instead of friends, without any 
motive to active enterprise or intense study ; pampered with 
luxuries to the injury of their health ; courted for their 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


229 


riches instead of their virtues ; exposed to the envious ani 
madversions of the world, and attended on their very death- 
beds for interested expectations rather than domestic affec* 
tion. Dear Eleanor, if you could but view it for a moment, 
as you must do when the lapse of years shall make a sepa- 
ration inevitable from all that now seems so precious, you 
would fervently seek to 1 make unto yourself friends of the 
mammon of unrighteousness, that when you fail, they may 
receive you into everlasting habitation.’ ” 

Eleanor listened in solemn silence, and assumed a suit- 
able look of gravity for the occasion ; but it was evident 
that she paid no more real attention to. Lady Olivia’s words, 
than to the rain that was rattling on the window panes. 

11 It has long been a favorite opinion of mine, that real 
happiness prevails most among the middle classes,” con- 
tinued Lady Olivia ; they have none of the hardships of 
poverty, and the very privations they endure in common, 
and the mutual sacrifices that they are called to make, en- 
dear families to each other, and rivet that domestic affection 
which is the first and greatest ingredient of this world’s 
happiness. An enormous income naturally isolates us from 
others, because, even if we are generously disposed, our 
friends are no longer on terms of equality, but of obligation. 
To be selfishly rich, is the most miserable existence that any 
one could condemn himself to, exchanging the glitter of ex- 
ternal circumstances for the warmth of the heart’s best 
affections. I could only be in danger of envying wealth, if 
I saw that it was enjoyed, in the sole way by which it could 
bring a blessing to its possessor, as a steward for the good 
of others ; and that it might be said of me, as of the ancient 
patriarch, ‘ When the eye saw me, it blessed me ; and when 
the ear heard me, it bore witness to me.’ Eleanor ! I shall 
not probably live to see the use you make of wealth, for 
soon the place that has known me shall know me no more ; 
but it is my solemn testimony to you in these circumstances, 
that from the exercise of liberality and kindness is to be de- 
rived the only real enjoyment of wealth.” 

On this and on many other occasions, Lady Olivia saw, with- 
out surprise, but with deep regret, that all she could say 
was listened to as a wearisome task, and cast aside the next 
moment as deserving of nothing but oblivion ; she therefore 
suspended what more she would have desired to remark till 
the first intoxication of surprise should be over, but that 
expected period never seemed likely to arrive. Scarcely 


230 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


six months had elapsed from the time of Lady Fitz-Patrick’s 
death, before Eleanor was restored by the joy of this suc- 
cession to more than her usual brilliant spirits, and talked 
with perpetual animation of the splendid prospect before 
her. “ They say every pleasure has a drawback, but I have 
not met with one,” she exclained, laughing to our heroine 
in the exuberance of her joy. “ When people talked for- 
merly of there being nothing perfect in this world, that was 
said before I appeared in it.” 

Eleanor became, once again, only 

“ That light unmeaning thing, 

That smiles with all, and weeps with none.” 

She might be heard all over the house, humming her favorite 
opera tunes, evidently so elated, that she seemed scarcely to 
think the earth was good enough for her to tread upon, and 
she immediately relapsed into her old, unsettled habits of 
spending the day. She seldom finished any piece of music 
on the harp without starting off to tune her guitar, or to 
strike a few chords on the piano ; she generally begun half 
a dozen letters, which were afterwards left in the blotting- 
book, to be concluded when her inclination for writing re- 
turned ; and though she occasionally threaded her needle, 
and sat down to her worsted work, she had scarcely time to 
decide what shade came next in the pattern, before she flew 
to copy some Italian sonnet from a book into an album, or 
to read over her visiting list, in order to see who had last 
called to inquire for her ; and she longed impatiently to 
bring back Miss Marabout on a visit in the house, that she 
might have some one to sympathize in the exuberance of 
her joy. 

c: Don’t you envy me, Matilda?” she said one day, turning 
to our heroine, who was busily occupied in finishing a labo- 
rious copy of Lady Olivia’s portrait in miniature, on which 
she had long been intensely engaged, while Eleanor, as usual, 
fluttered about the dining-room. “ It really was a lucky ac- 
cident for me, that Sir Philip had not signed that strange 
will he made afterwards, if he ever seriously intended it.” 

c: I dare say it was fortunate for me also,” replied Matilda, 
in a tone of perfect sincerity. u I should of course be happy 
to try the experiment, how a large fortune would suit me ; 
but so very little could be added to my enjoyments, that it 
quite reconciles me to the present state of affairs. I remem- 
ber hearing it remarked, that many people were seeking hap 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


231 


piness. like an absent man looking for his hat, when it is al- 
ready on his head ; and it would be very much like my case 
were I to fret myself now on account of the disappointment ; 
and therefore, dear Eleanor, you need not feel anything on 
my account as a drawback to your pleasure on this occasion.” 

Nothing was farther from Eleanor’s thoughts than to sup- 
pose that it could detract in any degree from her joy to have 
supplanted Matilda, as that circumstance, on the contrary, 
rather added a zest to her own good fortune ; and it soon 
became the object of her continual and ceaseless desire, to 
stir up in the gentle, unambitious mind of her amiable cousin, 
a feeling of rivalship and of envy, which it was impossible 
ever to implant in a soil so carefully cultivated, and so filled 
with every blossom of good and elevated feeling. Eleanor 
became prodigal of her money in personal expense ; but no 
generous impulse ever led her to such acts of liberality or 
benevolence as might have made Matilda feel the desire to 
go and do likewise. She covered herself with trinkets — she 
filled her room with novels, old china, and bijouterie — she 
multiplied albums, piping bullfinches, and musical boxes, — 
and eagerly longed for the day when she might cast aside 
her mourning dress, and blaze out in all the brilliance of un- 
rivalled splendor and fashion. Eleanor was on all occasions 
ready to spend, but never to give ; and the only unalloyed 
pleasure which wealth can bring to a generous mind, was one 
of which she was totally incapable, as she felt no gratifica- 
tion in conferring happiness, and would have experienced no 
more satisfaction in giving away a sum of money than in 
casting it into the fire. 

“ Matilda,” said Lady Howard, one evening, “ I think 
Eleanor will some day be smothered beneath a mountain of 
gold bracelets, like the woman we read of in Roman history, 
she has bought so many. Does your cousin never seem to 
think of presenting one to you ? for I remember how elo- 
quently she used to talk of the generous things that poor 
Sir Philip ought to do towards you both ; but she seems to 
have forgotten all her bountiful opinions now that they 
should come into action.” 

“ Eleanor knows you are so liberal to me that I require 
nothing, and therefore it never occurs to her,” replied Ma- 
tilda. 

“ Well,” said Lady Howard, “ I shall not theorize about 
what rich people should do, till I am tried with a large ac- 
cession of fortune myself, and then we shall see whether it 


232 


MODERN ACCOM I'LItfU M E NTS, 


has the usual effect of shutting up my heart instead of open- 
ing it. But you really deserve something, Matilda, for bear 
ing our disappointment so much better than I did. Let us 
yet hope it will be compensated, in a small degree, by Lady 
Barnard when she dies, since your unwearied patience with 
her, and your daily visits there, deserve the utmost grati- 
tude.” 

“ I am sorry you expect anything from that quarter, as 
it will lead to certain vexation,” replied Matilda, smiling. 
“You can have no conception how completely Lady Bar- 
nard looks on my attentions as a matter of course, and how 
much more offended she is by any imaginary omission, than 
she is pleased with my utmost exertions. I merely go from 
a sense of duty, and from a feeling of compassion, as I would 
visit any other person so helpless and lonely, but without 
the most transient idea of ultimate advantage.” 

It turned out soon afterwards precisely as Matilda How- 
ard had foreseen. Lady Barnard sunk gradually into the 
grave, under an accumulation of infirmities, during which 
her sole support and consolation were derived from the un- 
ceasing assiduities of our heroine, who became so essential 
to her comfort, that she could not bear to let Matilda go for 
an hour out of the room ; and she expired in her arms, leav- 
ing the whole of her fortune to a distant cousin, whom she 
had never seen, merely because he was her cousin ; and to 
Matilda, nothing , except the pleasing consciousness of having 
persevered through every discouragement in an act of dis- 
interested usefulness. 

Eleanor Fitz-Patrick became, from the period of her un- 
expected succession, so consequential in her manner, and so 
desultory in her conversation, that it was often the utmost 
effort of principle in Matilda to bear with her patiently. 

“ I wonder what o’clock it is !” exclaimed Eleanor one 
day, in the midst of an audible yawn, after having lounged 
away most of the morning in Lady Howard’s drawing-room. 
“Busy, as usual, Matilda; what a drudge you are! always 
working at something, as if your daily bread depended on 
finishing it before night. Bo let me see you five minutes 
in idleness, if it were only for the sake of a little sympathy 
in my weariness.” 

“ By all means,” replied Matilda, hastily arranging her 
work-box and closing it. “ I was watching for an opportunity 
to tell you a most amusing incident that diverted me this 
morning.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


233 


“ Oh ! delightful ! do tell it me !” said Eleanor, sitting 
down in her favorite place, which commanded a view of the 
window, and of a large mirror, where her own figure was re- 
flected at full length. “ I like nothing so well as a perfect- 
ly new story, before the gloss is off, and when it is still 
damp from the press.” 

“ But will you for once bestow undivided attention upon 
me, for it is nothing without some previous details,” re- 
plied Matilda ; “ and I shall be so mortified if you lose the 
point.” 

“ Lose it !” cried Eleanor, examining her rings ; “ how 
could I ! You know my attention never wanders for an in- 
stant when any one is speaking to me.” 

“Are you sure of that?” replied Matilda, with a sly 
glance of reproach. “ I think, of late, Eleanor, you have 
occasionally seemed absent without leave.” 

“ Have I ?” said Eleanor, in a supercilious tone. “ Why, 
really, one has so many things to think of. But now 
for your story, which I am dying to hear. Do begin with 
saying £ Once upon a time,’ which was always my favorite 
commencement when we were children, because it plunged 
at once into the incident.” 

“ Well, then ! Once upon a time, which means yesterday 
morning, I went to see old Lady Evans — ” 

“ By the by ! that reminds me,” interrupted Eleanor, 
“ that I wanted to ask how many sons Lady Evans has.” 

“ Her children are all dead ; but she has two grandsons 
at Eton.” 

“ What a disappointment !” said Eleanor. “ I always 
fancied that you had an admirer in that house, because you 
go there so constantly. In the very last novel I read, the 
heroine was continually paying charitable visits to an old 
lady ; and then it came out that there was a handsome son 
in the Life Guards, who had returned home upon leave, and 
of course they married at last.” 

“ Certainly ! it was quite unavoidable,” replied Matilda , 
“ but no such dashing denouement awaits me, unless I delay 
till one of the Eton boys has finished his grammatical stu- 
dies. We must be disinterested sometimes, you know, 
Eleanor ; and I really like poor Lady Evans extremely.” 

“ But now for your story,” continued Eleanor, yawning, 
’ i I quite delight in hearing you tell one.” 

“ As I was saying, then, I went yesterday to see old Lady 
Evans.” 


234 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


“ How far is it to her cottage?” 

“ One mile and a half.” 

“ Did Miss Porson go also ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Was it not dreadfully wet and foggy ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ 1 spent the entire day within an inch of the fender 
shivering and grumbling all the time ; but now, go on.” 
u I went, then, to Lady Evans — ” 

“ Is she rich ?” 

“ Not very.” 

11 How much has she ?” 

“ Perhaps a thousand a-year ; but I never heard exactly.” 
“ Has she a carriage ?” 
w Yes.” 

“ And does she keep horses ?” 

“ No.” 

u Well, now, Matilda, I am so anxious to hear your story.” 
“ I have only got as far as my expedition to Lady Evans — ” 
“ By the by, how old is she ?” 
tt Eighty- two.” 
u Was she ever a beauty?” 

“ No ; I rather believe not.” 
u Whom did her daughter marry ?” 

11 Sir Thomas Forrester.” 

“What did Lady Forrester die of?” 
u Inflammation.” 
u Had she any children ?” 

“ Only two.” 

“ But, Matilda,” continued Eleanor, glancing into the 
mirror, “ when shall we get on with this story of yours ?” 

u As soon as I get leave,” answered our heroine gayly. 
“ You criticised my excessive patience with poor Lady Bar- 
nard’s deafness, but really, Eleanor, your fit of curiosity this 
morning is ten times more insupportable.” 

“ Then I will not interrupt you again if I can help it, so 
do go on.” 

“ When I was at Lady Evans’s cottage, ” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! here is that old cat Lady Susan Danvers, 
walking along the street with such beauty airs, it would 
make any one die. The wind is blowing her bonnet off, and 
her parasol is turned inside out, — ha ! ha ! she has asked a 
carpenter, who was passing accidentally, to help her across 
the street ! and she looks like a vessel in a breeze, with 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


235 


every sail set! But what were we talking of? oh, go on 
with 3 'our story, Matilda; why are you stopping?” 

u I waited till you were done laughing and could listen. 
Lady Evans said to me, in her good-humored way — ’ 

“ Oh, Matilda, do come here !” cried Eleanor. “ What a 
sight ! there is old Sir Colin Fletcher, in a new equipage 
that might be the Car of V enus, it is so light and airy. I 
wish he would give me a drive in it ; and only look at those 
pie-bald horses of his !” 

44 Had you a wish ready when they came in sight?” asked 
Matilda ; 44 for you know, Eleanor, whatever we are wishing 
for at the moment of a pie-bald horse appearing, it is sure 
to happen, according to the old Highland superstition.” 

“ Then I must have been wishing myself a duchess, for 
that is what I always desire above eferything ; a coronet at 
the corner of my pocket-handkerchiefs, and to be called 
4 your Grace’ at every word, would be my idea of perfect 
happiness. But now, Matilda, for the last time of asking, 
pray finish your story.” 

44 No, Eleanor,” said Matilda, laughing. 44 1 really must 
not undertake my task again ; it is impossible to hold your 
attention for a minute now. Yesterday, I tried in vain to 
interest you, and begun three different sentences in the most 
attractive manner; first, I said, 4 What an extraordinary 
event has happened,’ which you did not hear me relate ; 
next, I told you that 4 it was the drollest accident in the 
world,’ but you had no curiosity ; and at last, intending to 
be quite irresistible, I commenced with saying, that 4 1 had 
never laughed so much in my life as at the story I was going 
to tell.’ Now, on not one of these occasions did you hear 
me out ; and poor Lady Evans’s sayings and doings must 
be laid on the shelf also, till you are in a listening mood, if 
that ever occurs again.” 

44 How very cross of you, Matilda, when I am so inter- 
ested,” said Eleanor, languidly. 44 1 wonder what very 
pretty foreign-looking children these are passing with their 
long dusty-looking curls fluttering in the wind, and such af- 
fected airs. I like to see conceited children, it gives them 
such a look of distinction.” 

As wealth is the only gift in which one man can precisely 
estimate his superiority to another, because it can be brought 
to demonstration at once, and must of course be conceded 
without dispute, rich people are apt to flatter themselves 
„hat in all other respects their pre-eminence shall be as 


236 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


readily acknowledged, though the measure of their attain 
ments cannot he so accurately ascertained ; and Eleanor 
Fitz-Patrick found no difficulty in persuading herself that 
she excelled Matilda in every gift of nature, as much as she 
did in those of fortune, and that the disparity would be as 
glaring in the eyes of all the world as it appeared to be in 
her own ; yet she felt a secret and unacknowledged jealousy 
of her cousin, which all her self-love could not entirely dis- 
arm, and a degree of pique to see herself so totally unenvied, 
which led her to try on many occasions, if she could not in- 
flict petty mortifications on Matilda’s vanity, which fell on 
her, however, as harmlessly as the javelins in the fairy-tale, 
which were turned into roses when they touched what was 
lovely and pure. 

K Ah !” exclaimed Eleanor one day, in a tone of excessive 
animation, u I really believe that Sir Alfred Douglas is 
leaving his cards for me ! I wish the servant had shown 
him up stairs. He certainly has the most dignified appear- 
ance imaginable, and rides the handsomest horses in the 
kingdom. Now, that would be a conquest worth making. 
I am quite wearied of Major Foley and all the common 
tribe of men, who are sure to be pleased with whatever I 
think, say, or do ; as for my former favorite, Mr. Grant, he 
has become so odd and whimsical, I scarcely know what to 
think of him now ; but there is something grand and inac- 
cessible about Sir Alfred, and I can never think of any one 
else when he is in the room. How strange it is, that a per- 
son who has so much conversation for gentlemen, can scarcely 
produce a syllable to a lady. Positively, during all my 
parties at the Priory, he never said a word to me, except to 
inquire for you, Matilda. Do not flatter yourself, however,” 
added Eleanor, seeing the brilliant color which suddenly 
overspread her cousin’s countenance, and which our heroine 
vainly endeavored to conceal ; t£ Sir Alfred evidently did 
not care in the least whether you were dead or alive, and 
merely wished to find a pretext for speaking to me ; but he 
is not at all a lady’s man, and I like him the better for it 
People say that Lady Amelia has contrived to inspire into 
him the most unbounded horror of flirting misses and ma- 
noeuvring mammas, with the amiable intention of continuing 
her own regency at the Priory as long as possible ; 1 man 
les difficult cs naissent les miracles and I am resolved that my 
next victim shall be no less a personage than Sir Alfred 
Douglas himself, who is really like a royal eagle, compared 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


237 


with the chattering magpies that have been surrounding me 
lately. I like his odd, whimsical misanthropy, and then that 
stern, forbidding look with which he stands aloof from 
every body at a party, is extremely interesting. Was it 
not with you, by the by, Matilda, that I saw him talking 
one evening at the Priory for nearly an hour ? I recollect 
being astonished at the moment, and always forgot to ask 
what he could possibly be speaking about, for you both 
looked so grave and prosing.” 

Matilda’s worsteds had become excessively entangled, 
and she was so intently occupied in counting the stitches of 
her pattern, that it was some minutes before she could look 
up to answer her cousin’s unexpected inquiry; and as 
Eleanor seldom waited for an answer to her numerous 
questions, and cared little for what any one else had to say, 
she rambled on to some completely different subject before 
Matilda could speak, and therefore the topic of discussion 
which had engaged the attention of Sir Alfred Douglas and 
our heroine on a previous occasion, must forever remain a 
mystery, though it is not supposed to have been quite so 
dull and tedious as Eleanor imagined, because on several 
occasions afterwards it was again renewed, and seemed to 
be supported on both sides with rather less “ suspended 
animation” than was usually to be observed in the tone and 
manner of Sir Alfred Douglas, who seemed to be attracted 
by the retiring gentleness of Matilda’s manner, and amused 
by the naivete and frankness of her observations ; for there 
was a transparency of character, and a dignified simplicity, 
which made her, young as she was, an object of respect as 
well as of interest to all those with whom she felt sufficient- 
ly acquainted to converse. 

It was rare, indeed, to meet with one so lovely, who was 
unconscious of her own charms, and indifferent to their 
effect, — graceful without affectation, and pleasing without 
an attempt at display, — always eager to oblige, — perfectly 
self-possessed, and with the most entire command of her 
attention to whatever should engage it at the moment ; her 
accomplishments always ready for the service of others, her 
opinions open as the light of day, and her feelings alone 
shaded from the eye of common observation, but always 
ready to act on every kind and generous emotion, and 
known in all their intensity to the few whom she could 
confidently trust ; her conversation abounding in good sense 
and information, but flowing easily on without the smallest 


238 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


effort, untainted by pedantry, and unsullied by satire, a 
heart expanding to every benevolent feeling, and a coun- 
tenance beaming with intelligence. Such was Matilda 
Howard ; but whether the reserved and fastidious Sir Al- 
fred Douglas had perceived, or could appreciate all or any 
of these graces in her character and appearance, no one 
had time to conjecture, as Lady Amelia was about this time 
seized with a sudden inclination to visit the Continent, and 
made an earnest request that her son would be her escort 
on the occasion. If Sir Alfred Douglas excelled in any- 
thing, it was in devoted attention to his mother ; and he at 
once acceded to this apparently unaccountable whim, by 
preparing to accompany her abroad. His last visit, before 
leaving town, was to Lady Howard, who received him with the 
greatest empressement of attention, and overpowered him with 
Continental reflections as soon as she understood he was go- 
ing abroad. She told him where the dinners had been bad ten 
years before, when she had travelled through Germany and 
Switzerland herself, — she revived all her raptures about the 
scenery on the Rhine, — shuddered at the remembrance of 
the roads, — went into ecstasies with the gallery at Dres- 
den, — described a concert at Vienna, and talked of her in- 
timacy with as many ex-kings and ambassadors as might 
have done for a congress ; but still Sir Alfred looked absent 
and egare. Lady Howard was surprised, as she seldom 
took so much trouble to be agreeable, with such slight suc- 
cess, and she resolved therefore to try a new ground. 

Sir Alfred Douglas’s 4 favorite aversion’ had always been 
for female politicians, but, totally unconscious of this, Lady 
Howard plunged at once to her utmost depth in politics. 
She prophesied that great changes would take place in the 
country before Sir Alfred’s return, remarked that the vol- 
cano would burst very soon, and bury the whole constitu- 
tion of the country beneath a heap of ruins — wondered who 
was the author of the IB caricatures — described some of 
the most entertaining of them, and expressed her serious 
apprehensions for the House of Peers, and her decided opin- 
ion, that in case of a revolution the safest and best refuge 
would be found in Canada. Sir Alfred Douglas seemed 
inaccessible to alarm, and remained calm and inattentive 
during the whole stream of Lady Howard’s declamation ; 
but still he sat on, and she began to wonder much at the 
duration of his visit, and rather to grudge the trouble of 
trying to amuse a visitor who seemed so totally un-amuse- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


239 


able. Yet he looked so distinguished and so intelligent, that 
she felt assured there must be some Promethean torch that 
could awaken him unto life if she only knew where to light 
it, and Lady Howard was not one to be intimidated by dif- 
ficulties. 

“ I see you are glancing towards my daughter’s port- 
folio/ said she, following the accidental direction of Sir Al- 
fred’s eyes. “ She has been busy all this morning copying 
a likeness of poor young Arundell for his mother, which is tol- 
erably successful ; but this sketch of the Priory that she had 
promised to Lady Amelia, is a total failure — she does not 
mean to send such a mere daub.” 

u Let me take it,” said Sir Alfred, hastily rolling up the 

drawing, “it will be a precious recollection to me of 

of what will never be absent from my thoughts.” 

“ By all means,” replied Lady Howard, rather astonished 
at such unexpected eagerness. “ My daughter is spending 
the day with Old Lady Lvans, or she would gladly have 
added a few touches to increase the effect.” 

“ It could not possibly be improved,” replied Sir Alfred, 
abruptly taking leave, and hastening out of the room with a 
degree of agitation in his manner which more than ever as- 
tonished Lady Howard. 

“ I really think,” she said to Matilda in the evening, “ it 
is full time that Lady Amelia should take her son to the 
Continent, for he is becoming very eccentric. This morn- 
ing he sat above an hour in my dining-room, neither speak- 
ing nor listening. He seems to care no more about the 
state of the nation than my lap-dog, and aotually smiled 
when I told him how soon the Protestant ascendancy would 
be at an end — his eye was fixed on the door during his 
whole visit, as if he were meditating an escape or expecting 
an apparition, and he took leave of me so suddenly at last, 
that I had scarcely time to charge him with my kind re- 
gards to Lady Amelia. I am sure he has something upon 
his mind, and that a little change of scene will be the surest 
remedy, unless his case be incurable. Perhaps, like the 
statue of Pygmalion, he may at last be awakened by the 
torch of love.” 

“ Perhaps he may,” cried Sir Francis, looking up from 
his newspaper — 

'“He that fights and runs away, 

May live to fight another day.’ 

What say you to that, Matilda ?” 


240 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


Amongst the many important changes which were conse* 
quent on Miss Fitz-Patrick’s unexpected alteration of cir- 
cumstances, there was one for which she had been so totally 
unprepared, that it became the subject of continual aston- 
ishment, and led to endless conjectures on her own part, 
which were confided to no one except her trusty and sym- 
pathizing cousin. From the time when Eleanor’s brilliant 
inheritance was first announced to the world, her lively and 
agreeable admirer, Mr. Grant, entirely relinquished his 
visits. When they met in society, he no longer paid her 
those attentions which had formerly been the source of so 
much pleasure and amusement — he avoided handing her to 
dinner — never took wine with her at table — discontinued 
asking her to dance, and averted his eye instantly when he 
had made her a distant bow. If Eleanor exerted herself by 
any efforts to address him, he replied with a degree of ab- 
sence and restraint quite unusual ; and the moment another 
gentleman came up to address her, he instantly withdrew. 
The young heiress was at first surprised, then distressed, 
and finally irritated, at so unaccountable a change ; but 
still it was a subject of mortification and surprise that never 
escaped her thoughts. Surrounded as she frequently was 
by almost every other gentleman in the room, there appeared 
yet to be a blank, for she missed his lively humor, and the 
joyous laugh with which he had been accustomed to echo all 
her sallies of vivacity. 

“ What can be the matter with Mr. Grant ?” whispered 
she to Matilda one evening at Lady Montague’s, when he 
was standing aloof, while a whole troop of officers were offi- 
ciously searching for her shawl, and calling for her carriage. 
“ This is the strangest whim. I must find out what it all 
means. Mr. Grant, you once had a remarkable genius for 
putting on a cloak gracefully, but I suppose the art is en- 
tirely lost, or you would offer to assist me now.” 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick,” replied he, vainly attempting to 
force a laugh, 11 1 need a cloak for my own feelings, and I 
can wear one no longer. Farewell ! — a long farewell ! — 
circumstances have changed, but feelings never can. I am 
about to travel, to go anywhere that I may forget. I trust 
you will enjoy all the happiness you merit, and then it will 
be perfect.” 

Having said these words in a hurried voice of deep emo- 
tion, he threw on his hat and instantly disappeared. 

“ Matilda ” said Eleanor, taking her cousin’s arm with a 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


241 


bewildered look of agitation, and hastening rapidly into the 
carriage, “ tell me, Matilda, what you think of this ? Speak 
to me. Say something. I am completely taken by sur- 
prise. Poor Mr. Grant ! he really looked like a person who 
intended to shoot himself” 

“ Oh no, Eleanor ! I have no idea, to be sure, how people 
look who are going to shoot themselves, but Mr. Grant is 
only going abroad, you may depend upon it. I can solve 
the whole enigma of his conduct, and I truly respect him 
for it. He was evidently long since attached to you, when 
there was no disparity of situation, but now he is conscious 
that with all your brilliant gifts, added to a splendid for- 
tune, he ought not to presume upon any previous claim he 
might have urged to your preference, and therefore he has 
resolved on absenting himself as his best hope of forgetting 
you.” 

u He might at least have consulted my own opinion 
whether my happiness would be most promoted by his for- 
getting or remembering me ; but after all. 6 whatever is, is 
right , 5 ” added Eleanor, in a tone of some pique. “ Mr. 
Grant, a year since, would scarcely have equalled the ex- 
pectations of my friends, and still less now ; but Matilda, 
if he had every requisite, there are certainly not many to 
compare with him for fascination of manner and appear- 
ance.” 

“ If you think so, Eleanor, wait till he returus unchanged, 
as I am confident he will do in a few years honce. When you 
have more experience of the world and its ways, he will pro- 
bably feel justified in renewing the intimacy, and I can im- 
agine no greater pleasure after such a succession of fortune 
as yours, than to reward the disinterested attachment of 
one who has everything to recommend him, except the 
wealth that you have in such abundance, and who has now 
shown so painful and difficult an instance of integrity and 
right feeling towards yourself.” 

“ Why then does he go?” exclaimed Eleanor, indignant- 
ly. “ I never gave him the slightest discouragement, nor 
made any alteration in my conduct, for I always did prefer 
his attentions to those of any other person.” 

11 That is the very reason of his conduct, Eleanor, for I 
am convinced he thinks you not yet old enough to make a 
final decision, and he is exactly the sort of person who 
would feel it dishonorable to surprise you into any prema- 
ture engagement . 55 


11 


242 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


“ Matilda, what retaining fee lias Mr. Grant given you for 
being his advocate ?” said her cousin, smiling ; £ - 1 am sure 
you deserve a liberal one.” 

u I am anxious that you should see the business in its 
proper light, as all your future happiness may be involved 
in it, Eleanor, as well as your best chance of being disinter- 
estedly loved. Till lately you scarcely noticed any one at 
parties as you did Mr. Grant, and at that time he had no 
scruple in gaining your affections, as his own had evidently 
been bestowed in advance ; but now he sees you surrounded 
by so many admirers, (or, I should rather say, suitors, I 
fear, in many cases.) some of them having superior claims — ” 

£ ‘ Pshaw, Matilda ! how can you speak such nonsense 
about any of the trash who attend on me now being com- 
parable with poor Mr. Grant, — poor in a double sense, and 
yet, thanks to his own care, I have made a narrow escape 
of being positively romantic, and throwing myself away 
upon a mere love-match ; for, to say the truth, if he had 
only made a regular plain declaration, as any body else 
would have done, I am not at all certain what would have 
been the consequence. As for all you say of my other in- 
numerable would-be lovers, there is not one whose motives 
I cannot see as plainly as if they were engraved on their 
foreheads.” 

“ In letters of gold,” added Matilda, slyly. 

“ Y es. And let me tell you, it is by no means pleasant. 
Formerly all the attention I ever received was homage due 
to my own individual merit ; but now the whole race of dis- 
interested victims have deserted me like Mr. Grant, and I 
have only in my train such men as Lord Alderby, who 
does not know whether I am tall, or short, or fat, or thin, 
but who has a title, and no estate, so that mine would suit 
him exactly. Sir Charles Campbell is another who cannot 
afford to marry gratis, because, like all Scotch proprietors, 
he has built such an expensive house that he can never af- 
ford to inhabit it. Colonel Pendarvis, who is living in pov- 
erty till his old aunt dies, and would like to keep better 
hunters in the mean time. I am told he keeps a regular 
register of young ladies, with their fortunes and expecta- 
tions, — elderly misses who are actually in possession, and 
young girls whose fathers are still in the way. Lord de 
Mainbury, whose estate marches with mine in the High- 
lands, is also a link in the tail, not to mention a whole 
squadron of handsome Irish officers, and a perfect troop of 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


243 


younger brothers, who have been reckoned good-looking 
and agreeable at home, and are recommended by their 
mammas and aunts * to try the heiress,’ or rather, perhaps, 
to 1 start for the Fitz-Patrick plate of 1000 guineas, for all 
ages and pedigrees.’ Formerly I used to have in my suite 
half a hundred pleasant younger brothers, with any of whom 
1 could laugh off half an hour every evening without think- 
ing more on the subject ; for we separated in the mutual 
consciousness that neither party could afford to fall in love ; 
but now every one of these youths has found out that he 
was all along desperately smitten with me, and I cannot be 
civil to one of them without having a proposal on the spot. 
It is really torturing ; and at parties, instead of a careless 
4 How d’ye do V as formerly, I see nothing but angry or de- 
spairing glances.” 

“ I am sure, if Mr. Grant heard you, he would allow that 
there is no deficiency in knowledge of the world,” replied 
Matilda, laughing ; “ but it is a great advantage to be so 
completely on your guard.” 

44 Yes,” said Eleanor, bitterly. 44 I am more than a match 
for them all, Matilda, and that you shall see hereafter ; 
mean time my delight is to teaze and punish every merce- 
nary who enlists himself under my banner. Last night I 
made the corpulent, gouty Lord Alderby, go down a con- 
tra dance of a mile long, and he nearly went off in an apo- 
plexy when we reached the end. I asked him about fifty 
questions in a breath, and he panted, and gasped, and tried 
to smile and reply, but it was impossible. To-day I have 
requested Sir Charles Campbell to copy out the music of a 
whole opera, and to let me have it before Friday ; so he 
must sit up two or three nights, I should hope, to accom- 
plish his task ; and Lord de Mainbury has rashly underta- 
ken to procure me some white roses for the fancy ball, 
though I am confident there are none to be found at 
this season in any conservatory throughout the country. 
If it had been midsummer, I should have longed for a snow- 
ball. Gold is the axis on which our world turns now, Ma- 
tilda ; and I scarcely know yet whether to laugh or to cry 
on account of the predicament it places me in. It was like 
gilding a diamond to give me money ; for it has actually ob- 
scured my real attractions.” 

u Best to take the cheerful side of everything,” replied 
Matilda, in a lively tone. 44 You have really revived the 
ancient times, Eleanor, when a beautiful princess could 


244 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


send her lovers to the utmost extremity of the world mere- 
ly to gratify her whims. You have not yet demanded the 
heard of the Great Mogul, or the Emperor of China’s front 
tooth ; but I dare say they might be had for the asking. I 
had no idea it would have been so well worth while in these 
days to have lovers, as the abolition of tilts and tourna- 
ments left no way, I had feared, for your admirers to sig- 
nalize themselves; but if you always carry a talisman 
about to tell who is the most sincerely attached to you, 
I still think it will be the one whose preference was 
spontaneous, and totally untainted by the consciousness of 
your wealth.” 

“It was a vulgar, mercenary idea of Mr. Grant’s, to 
suppose that riches could make any difference, if we had 
truly liked each other,” continued Eleanor, with some agi- 
tation. “ Those who mutually bestow their affections, 
have exchanged what is worth all the wealth of all the 
world.” 

“ Very romantic on your part, Eleanor ; but Sir Richard 
would not perhaps have viewed it so disinterestedly, and the 
world certainly might have said, that at eighteen you are 
very young to judge for yourself.” 

“ True,” replied Eleanor, sighing. “ It is best not to be 
pledged so soon, and I have always been rather ambitious 
for myself, as you know. — Mrs. Grant ! ! ! that would never 
have done ! I was always resolved on no account to marry a 
man who had only one syllable to his name — it sounds so 
insignificant, and I must be in the peerage.” 

“ Yes ; I remember saying, long since, that you would 
one day deserve the epitaph of some old courtier in former 
times, — 

“ ‘ Here lies one who ne’er preferr’d 
A viscount to a marquis yet.’ ” 

“ But, Matilda, at the same time, I really wish there was 
a general war, because it is such a bore, the whole Continent 
being open for our discontented beaux to escape to when- 
ever the slightest whim disgusts them. Now, Sir Alfred 
Douglas is emigrating also ; and, I suppose, like Mr. Grant, 
he is afraid of asking me too soon.” 

“ Have you any reason to imagine that he is attached 
to you ?” asked Matilda, looking intently out of the window. 

“ All the reason in the world,” replied Eleanor, with an- 
imation. “ An intimate friend of Lady Amelia’s told me 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


245 


ill strict confidence,- that his mother had menticned to her. 
under seal of profound secrecy, that she took him abroad 
because he had become ardently devoted to ‘ a young lady 
with whom he lately became acquainted,’ and she does not 
wish him to marry yet. Selfish old woman ! Now, Ma 
tilda, who else could it be except myself ; for my informer 
seemed to hint that it had some kind of peculiar interest for 
me, when she disclosed all that was prudent at present. 
You know it can be neither of the Miss Montagues, because 
I heard him say to you that their conversation was double- 
distilled nonsense. Now we are certain it is not Lady Car- 
oline Benson, as you will recollect his remarking, in that 
dry, diverting, sarcastic tone of his, that he never could 
look at her without tears in his eyes, since the time that he 
had lost his favorite walking-stick with a head on it. Be 
sides these, it is neither of the Miss Seagraves, because he 
abhors the whole five ; so who else could it possibly be, Ma- 
tilda, unless you flatter yourself on the subject, and I acquit 
you completely there ?” 

At the idea of having any rivalship with her cousin, El- 
eanor gave a laugh of derision, which was faintly echoed by 
Matilda ; but a crimson blush mantled in her cheek, and 
rose to her temples, with such suddenness and brilliancy, 
that it could scarcely have escaped Eleanor’s notice if our 
heroine had not been gazing intently in a different direc- 
tion, apparently absorbed in admiration of a pair of hack- 
ney-coach horses, which were driving opposite to the window. 

Whether the cousins ever afterwards discovered the real 
object of Sir Alfred Douglas’s preference, can only be known 
at some future period, as he and Mr. Grant have both re- 
mained abroad for some time, and separately gone through 
the usual routine of travellers, — a volcano at Mount V esu- 
vius — a fete at Torlonis — arrobbery on the Alps — an over- 
turn near Baden — a bath at Emms — a descent into Hercu- 
laneum — and a voyage in a gondola at Venice. But as it 
would be unfair to anticipate too large a proportion of the 
very interesting and original narratives, which will, of 
course, on their return, instantly appear in Albemarle 
Street, we shall only further mention that they have both 
already purchased a larger collection of different pictures 
than either of them has walls for, and sent home several 
statues, which may hereafter be very serviceable in the fam- 
ily as wig-blocks. 


246 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


CHAPTER XV. 


“ Strange to conceive, how the same objects strike 
On diff’rent minds 


* Aunt Olivia, began Eleanor, one day, assuming an 
amiable look, “you were saying a great deal to me last 
month about doing something generous and useful, now that 
my means are so enlarged ; and as everything you suggest 
is deserving of implicit attention, I have the pleasure to 
announce that several plans of the kind have occurred to 
me, of which I know you will approve.” 

t( How glad I am to hear it !” said Lady Olivia, raising 
herself up with some effort from the sofa on which she had 
reclined, and looking with hopeful interest towards Eleanor. 
“ It always gives me pleasure to be told of kind intentions ; 
and if you will communicate them to Matilda and me, we 
shall be happy to hear an account of your projects.” 

“ In the first place, then, I intend to build the most 
picturesque little school-house in the world, near Barnard 
Castle. It is to be a rough log hut, of which I shall get the 
plan from some architect, with wide casements, and thatched 
on the roof, covered with creepers, and standing in a beauti- 
ful situation, close to the lake.” 

“ My dear Eleanor, the very description is enough to give 
one the rheumatism,” said Lady Olivia, smiling. u Such a 
place might be endurable for six weeks of summer ; but you 
have no idea of a Highland climate ; and during the autumn 
and winter it would be necessary to have a hospital for all 
the coughs and colds that would be caught. You might 
easily have something quite as pretty and more substantial.” 

“ It is truly discouraging to be met with objections at my 
very outset,” replied the young heiress, peevishly ; “ but the 
whole affair is arranged in my own mind, so that I would 
rather abandon the scheme entirely than alter it. The girls 
shall all be dressed in a sort of uniform, — frocks of the 
Barnard tartan, with white tippets, and transparent white 
muslin bonnets. If any of them are tolerable-looking, the 
effect will be beautiful.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


247 


u For a few weeks, Eleanor,” added Lady Olivia ; “ but 
my dear girl, you have too much good sense not to be con- 
scious that the whole plan is more like a scene on the stage 
than a scheme that is to be acted in real life, and in the 
wilds of Inverness-shire. Pray revise it, with corrections, 
taking into consideration nine months of cold weather, and 
a large proportion of short days and of Scotch mist.” 

“ It is nonsense to attempt pleasing anybody,” cried 
Eleanor, impatiently. “ I thought, Aunt Olivia, you would 
have been the last person upon earth to prevent my estab- 
lishing a school, when your own has been so successful. 
But another of my plans is beyond criticism, certainly, 
though it requires your consent. You know, my dear aunt, 
how long I have been raving about the beauty of the cow- 
herd’s daughter here. It distresses me every day to see 
that lovely girl, Nanny Muckleraith — what a name for a 
beauty! — weeding amongst flowers, not one of which is so 
fresh or so blooming as herself ; and, poor thing ! she is 
wretchedly dressed too. I have the same pleasure in look- 
ing at a fine face as at a fine picture ; and my object is, with 
your permission, to have this young Hebe taught dress- 
making. and to promote her into the situation of my own 
maid.” 

“ Dear Eleanor ! this is a very kind impulse of feeling on 
your part,” replied the gentle Lady Olivia, coloring with em- 
barrassment, and hesitating how to express herself in the 
most conciliatory terms ; 44 I wish it were possible to comply 
with your wishes, but so many painful lessons were long 
since given me against being romantic in my charities, that 
I can see nothing but the danger of evil, and of much future 
regret, in your proposed plan. Nanny is certainly very 
beautiful, and, what is still more uncommon in that rank of 
life, extremely graceful ; so that formerly I was often much 
tempted to notice her at school more than would have been 
prudent. I have since considered whether anything could 
be done to improve her circumstances, and would have 
spared no effort to do any real good ; but nothing seemed so 
advantageous as Millar’s present way of supplying her with 
ample employment, along with the elder sister, and leaving 
them under protection of their father’s, roof. In my house 
she might have been carefully superintended, but any ar- 
rangement in this world which depends upon the continua- 
tion of life to me, must now be of a very temporary nature. 
In your service she would inevitably attract more notice 


248 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


than is desirable ; for I never saw the person yet who passed 
her in the garden without noticing that delicate profile and 
brilliant color. On the whole, as you desire to do an act of 
kindness, let me entreat that instead of Nanny, you will pa- 
tronize her sister Martha, who is also an excellent girl, and 
who has not the disadvantage, as I may really call it in their 
situation, of being so remarkably handsome.” 

“ Excuse me there, Aunt Olivia !” exclaimed Eleanor. 
You spoil my whole romance in a moment, which I really 
cannot consent to ! Martha is merely an every-day, hard- 
working, good sort of girl, in whom I could take no interest 
whatever ; but Nanny would look like a fairy, gliding about 
my dressing-room. I stop her every time we meet on the 
road, merely to see her bright smile and brilliant eyes, and 
she would be a constant object of interest to me. Have you 
no compunction, my dear aunt, to think that such a complex- 
ion is broiling in your garden every day under the blazing 
sun; or else smoked like a Westphalia ham in that little 
cottage of theirs. Only think if some lady could transfer 
such an appearance to herself, what a price would be given 
at any auction in London for that porcelain skin ; why, 
Nanny might set up her carriage on the price that would be 
gladly offered by some London lady of quality for her bril- 
liant color.” 

<£ In spite of the broiling sun !” added Lady Olivia ; “ but 
I have often told you that open air, on any terms, is better 
for your color than a hot drawing-room.” 

“ Perhaps,” continued Eleanor, with growing animation, 
she might make some great conquest at last, — a butler, or 
a shopkeeper, or even a lord ! for more unlikely things have 
occurred, and it really is mournful to watch her weeding 
turnips or planting potatoes. Yesterday the weather was 
very cold, and she came actually dressed in an old great-coat 
of her father’s, and such a bonnet ! but still she seemed 
pretty ; and at that moment I determined to search out some 
old gowns to give her, that she may look decent, poor thing ! 
Don’t be alarmed, for they are neither gauze nor tulle,” ad- 
ded Eleanor, catching a glance of anxiety from Lady Olivia : 
u my present consists merely of three sober, sensible old silk 
dresses, of such dingy colors that I wonder how they ever 
got into my wardrobe at all.” 

“ My dear girl ! I am truly grieved to interfere with your 
very kind and warm-hearted wishes,” said Lady Olivia ; 
u but let me hope, when all is considered, you may agree 


OH THIS MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


249 


with me in thinking it best to leave Nanny in tlie station 
tu iginally assigned by Providence ; for it was only after ma- 
ture reflection that I came to the same conclusion. Her 
parents are of the very lowest description, poor and ignorant, 
but very honest and industrious. Their family is exceed- 
ingly numerous, and by having the two eldest girls educated 
suitably to their circumstances, I have given them the means 
of being useful at home ; besides that, they both earn enough 
for their own comfortable subsistence. If we bring Nanny 
conspicuously forward in the capacity of your maid, she 
would be surrounded by a thousand snares to vanity and 
light-headedness, without being under any efficient guardian- 
ship. Even if she did at last form as great a connection as 
your most romantic wishes could suggest, it would raise her 
beyond the level of all those to whom she is now attached, 
without probably adding to her happiness. My object is, 
gradually to increase the comforts of her whole family, as 
they are remarkably deserving people ; and if you wish to 
show the girls a kindness, it would be real charity to give 
both Martha and Nanny good warm duffle-cloaks for tho 
winter, as I know they are in such want of comfortable 
clothing, that Mrs. Millar is at this moment sending them a 
supply of blankets and of worsted stockings.” 

“ What a burlesque upon my plan !” exclaimed Eleanor, 
shrugging her shoulders, and unable to help laughing. “ I 
do hate the dull realities of life ! When I intended Nanny 
a coronet, you limit me to a gray duffle-cloak !” 

u Which will make her more really contented than the 
other, you may depend upon it,” replied Lady Olivia. “ I 
am a great enemy to raising people from their original sta- 
tion, because, whatever number you exalt above their na- 
tural rank, the same number of others must be proportionably 
depressed to fill up a vacuum in the lower grade of society, 
which causes a much more extensive degree of suffering 
than of pleasure. Nanny and her mother spin a great deal 
for me, because I like to keep up the good old fashion of 
spinning-wheels : and it makes Millar more than happy to 
fill her presses with their manufacture.” 

“ And it really is delightful,” said Matilda, u to pass 
through Ashgrove village in a summer evening, when all 
the porches you have raised for them are glowing with roses, 
and to watch the poor women basking in the sun at every 
cottage door, and listening to the music of their own spin- 
ning wheels. I am amused to see that no rank in life is 
11 * 


250 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


exempt from a spark of vanity ; and last week Mrs. Muc- 
kleraitk invited me to step in and inspect her yarn, for she 
boasted it was unrivalled in the village ; and that 4 her lady- 
ship ’ always ordered what she spun should be manufactured 
for the dining-room.” 

“ Very true !” replied Lady Olivia ; u and I pay her rather 
more than any other person for doing it so well ; Mrs. Muc- 
klcraith’s yarn might all be passed through the eye of a 
needle, it is so smooth, and I like to see her honest satisfac- 
tion when she brings it home.” 

On the Saturday after this conversation, Lady Olivia took 
the young heiress by the hand with an affectionate smile, 
saying, “ You have made two very happy girls to-day, Elea- 
nor ! I saw Martha and Nanny equipped with new cloaks, 
and literally in ecstacies of joy at their unexpected acquisi- 
tion, which they said the good young lady had given in so 
kind a manner, that their pleasure was never to be for- 
gotten.” 

“ They must have been raving !” exclaimed Eleanor, in 
amazement ; “ I gave them nothing ! the whole affair went 
completely into oblivion after you prostrated my castles in 
the air so cruelly. I like to have no medium, and would 
either have done everything or nothing for Nanny. What 
could the girl mean ?” 

Lady Olivia stole a glance towards Matilda, who was 
watering some geraniums near the window, and discovered 
at once from her heightened color, that she knew more 
about the cloaks than her cousin ; but with affectionate re- 
gard for our heroine’s modesty on the subject, she made no 
remark that indicated suspicion. 

“ I have not abandoned my plan of promoting the young 
beauty yet ; however, I shall make another attempt to gain 
your consent. What you said during our former conversa- 
tion, of people being raised from their natural rank, re- 
minds me of my present admirer, Lord De Mainbury, whose 
late wife was an actress : but they allege she had performed 
the part of queen so often on the stage, that she used rather 
to overdo her dignity as a peeress, and sometimes called to 
the astonished footman at dinner, * Bring me a vase of 
beer.’ I should never be able to supply the place of so 
magnificent a person, and do not therefore mean to under 
take it.” 

u We may trust you on the score of assuming sufficient 
consequence for any station, Eleanor !” replied Lady Olivia, 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


?51 


in a rallying tone. “ Bat do I hear you really falling int<j 
the very error you were complaining of lately in othei 
young ladies, that they are always professing an intention 
to refuse proposals, which have never been made, and boast- 
ing of the number of gentlemen whose attentions they have 
been obliged to discourage V 1 

“ Yes ! Charlotte Clifford told me of fifteen rejected ad- 
dresses on her own list during last winter ; but as for Lord 
He Mainbury, there is very little to boast of in his prefer- 
ence, as we all take rank in his estimation, rather accord- 
ing to our purses than our pedigrees. Indeed, his own 
lineage is not very exalted ; for Mr. Grant, who is such a 
capital genealogist, that he can trace every body’s origin to 
a pedlar or a coal-porter, assures me that Lord de Main- 
bury’s grandfather made his fortune by collecting rusty nails 
in the streets of London. 

“ Indeed !” said Lady Olivia. “ I heard once of a poor 
man who lived near Salisbury Plain with no other means of 
subsistence than by gathering wool that was accidentally 
torn off the sheep’s backs ; and guess, my dear girls, how 
much he died worth V 1 

u I can’t conceive !” replied Eleanor, eagerly ; 11 was it 

£ 10,000 ?” 

“ Or, perhaps, £500 ?” asked Matilda. 

“ He died not worth a farthing, and was buried by the 
parish !” replied Lady Olivia, good-humoredly smiling to 
see them both so taken in. 

As time passed on, it appeared to the anxious and affec- 
tionate heart of Matilda Howard, that there was a very ob- 
vious and rapid decline in the health of her beloved aunt, 
who frequently consulted Hr. Mansfield, and seemed to con- 
template the probability of closing her earthly career at an 
early period. She avoided harassing the feelings of her 
family, however, by very frequently speaking on the subject, 
whioh nevertheless came out in accidental allusions some- 
times, being so completely impressed upon her own mind 
that she scarcely remembered it might be strange and un- 
expected to the friends around her. Often with tears did 
our heroine watch that fragile and drooping form, which 
seemed like a lily in the field to fade so imperceptibly before 
her eyes, she could scarcely say at what hour the sad altera- 
tion commenced, or in what degree it advanced. Still the 
same affectionate smile which she was wont to see, invariably 
greeted her entrance : but much of its animation had lied, 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


rtsi) 

and was succeeded by the languor of extreme weakness 
Though Lady Olivia pursued her former occupations, she 
evidently did so with a degree of effort and of difficulty 
which was quite unusual, and Matilda’s young heart swelled 
with emotion when she thought that in all probability the 
time was not far distant when she should have to deplore 
the loss of one who was connected in her affections with 
every remembrance of former happiness, and with every 
hope of future joy. 

Nearly a year had elapsed from the period of Lady Fitz- 
Patrick’s death, and Eleanor had begun to complain that 
there was nothing to mark the lapse of time except a very 
frequent recurrence of Sundays. “ The days fly rapidly 
past, and yet they are tedious,” said Eleanor, yawning. “ I 
should like to have an unlimited command of sleep, that 
one might slumber away all the superfluous hours that hang 
heavy on hand.” 

“ Ilou would like, as somebody said, to lengthen your life 
and shorten your days,” replied Matilda ; “ but how gladly 
1 would take off your hands any spare minutes, having often 
wished there could be an act of Parliament to make every 
day forty-eight hours long instead of twenty-four, there is 
so seldom time to do half what would be desirable.” 

“ And I always go to bed early to have an hour less of 
■weariness on hand ; but it will be very different when we 
emerge into society again,” said Eleanor ; “ in the meantime, 
pray give me your receipt for never tiring.” 

“ The best of all plans is to allow yourself no rest except 
what consists in a change of employment,” replied Matilda. 
“ My aunt always advises us to interest ourselves in as many 
innocent objects of pursuit as possible. She has no objection 
to people being eager about collecting autographs or seals, 
or pebbles, or butterflies, whatever they can acquire a taste 
for ; and, in short, to do anything rather than nothing, pro- 
vided there be no sin in it, for she says a stagnation is more 
to be avoided than any other disease of the mind ; it is al- 
ways better 1 to wear out than to rust out.’ ” 

‘•Very true,” answered Eleanor, yawning, “if one had 
anything tc do that was worth while, but } t ou know very 
well, Matilda, that it is, as your father declares, the merest 
humbug in the world for ladies to talk of being usefully em- 
ployed.” 

“We can but try,” said Matilda, smiling. “ The way to 
shoot high is to aim at the moon, and we must not be dis- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT, 


255 


couraged from attempting anything by the impossibility of 
doing much.” 

“ I suppose you would hold up as an example to me Cow- 
per’s Mrs. Unwin, who found the day too short for knitting 
and darning stockings ; but whatever I do, it always makes 
me feel that it would signify nothing to myself, or to any 
one on earth, if it were never done at all.” 

“ How would you like to have been in the prison at Ghent, 
where the culprits had to pump water out of their dungeons 
all day, or it rose up and drowned them.” 

“ Why, they had at least a motive to work for, which I 
have not.” 

There was another of the family besides Eleanor who 
seemed about this time to stand in need of excitement, and 
to be pining in restless inactivity, and in unwilling retire- 
ment at Ashgrove, which had once only been a scene of 
peaceful contentment and active usefulness. Miss Barbara 
Neville had during some weeks made an entire revolution 
in her habits of life, before it became obvious to Lady 
Olivia Neville that she was laboring under considerable de- 
pression and uneasiness. She was denied to her whole 
coterie of visitors ; even 1 dear’ Miss Rachel Stodart failed 
to gain admission when she called. Her sighs for the first 
time in her life were not meant to be audible ; she scarcely 
wrote any letters for a fortnight, and when she did make 
the effort, which was very seldom, she seemed absent, and 
was considerably less sententious and decided than formerly. 
Lady Olivia felt completely puzzled, and rather alarmed, to 
think what could have caused such a sudden metamorphosis. 
Though fast declining herself, into a state of extreme weak- 
ness and debility, she became warmly interested in watching 
its progress, and in trying to lead Miss Neville gradually to 
an explanation of her present feelings. Ever the first to 
4 hope all things,’ Lady Olivia flattered herself that the 
realities of religion had at last appeared to her guest in all 
their magnitude and power, so that the littleness of secta- 
rian spirit, and all her love of excitement and display, would 
at once disappear like exhalations of earth before the morn- 
ing sun. Lady Olivia allowed herself to anticipate the 
time, though she had little hope of living to see it entirely 
realized, when sober truths and simple doctrines would bo 
exchanged for the visions of a heated imagination — when 
schemes of benevolence should be brought to the test of 
rational possibility — when books of practical piety and evan 


254 - 


modern ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


gelical truth would be preferred to those abounding in specu 
lations of wild enthusiasm and daring presumption — when 
Mrs. Hannah More would be held in superior estimation to 
‘dear’ Miss Rachel Stodart, and Archbishop Leighton quoted 
with more reverence than Mr. Harvey ; and when she might 
hope to converse without any danger of her taste being out- 
raged by Miss Neville’s continual use of technical expres- 
sions, and her judgment being obliged to oppose on all occa- 
sions the views and sentiments which her heart could not 
approve. 

Lady Olivia now became every day more anxious to gain 
Miss Neville’s confidence, and whenever her bodily powers 
admitted of exertion, she tried many arts of conciliation 
and kindness to encourage her into an explanation, but in 
vain ; for though she appeared several times on the point of 
speaking openly, she invariably checked herself with an ap- 
pearance of embarrassment, and turned the conversation 
entirely off from the point to which Lady Olivia had in- 
geniously brought it. The case seemed hopeless, and as the 
countenance of Miss Neville continued to be clouded with 
an increasing expression of anxiety and chagrin, Lady 
Olivia at length resolved that false delicacy ought not to 
prevent her from ascertaining whether she could be useful 
to so near a connection by any means in her power, feeling 
desirous that no effort should be wanting which friendship 
or kindness could suggest on the occasion, whatever it 
might be, to relieve the mind and to restore the spirits of 
her visitor. One day, therefore, when she was confined to 
bed by indisposition, and Miss Neville came to bid her 
good morning, she took her by the hand with a look of af- 
fectionate interest, and asked whether anything of a dis- 
tressing nature had occurred lately, and entreated her 
immediate confidence, saying it was impossible to foresee 
how long she might be spared to offer her sympathy or 
assistance, and she could not any longer remain silent on 
observing that the depression which had for some time been 
obvious in the manner of Miss Neville, continued so long 
undiminished. 

“ Nothing has happened that need distress me,” replied 
Miss Barbara, in a tone of pique and irritation, which seemed 
quite inexplicable to Lady Olivia; but as her conduct 
and feelings were frequently rather an enigma to her friends 
this was less remarkable on the present occasion. 

“I do not wish to intrude on your confidence, Barbara 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


255 


and shall never inquire into the subject farther than is 
agreeable to yourself,” continued Lady Olivia, in the lan- 
guid tone of extreme exhaustion ; u but I merely wish to 
take this opportunity of hinting, that if it be possible to af- 
ford relief or consolation in any way, you need not hesitate 
to claim my good offices and my utmost exertions for the 
short time that I now expect to survive.” 

“ You are quite mistaken. I have only met with a little 
suprise, but it is not of the slightest consequence to any 
one,” replied Miss Neville, in a voice of great reserve ; and 
Lady Olivia with ready tact instantly started a different 
subject of conversation, and supported it with all the ani- 
mation she could command, endeavoring to suit what she 
said as much as possible to the taste and sentiments of 
her companion, and to avoid any debatable ground which 
might have led to a difference of opinions. Lady Olivia 
Neville seldom argued with any one when it could be 
avoided, for she had generally found that it merely turned 
to a keen contest of talent, and in religion especially, she 
knew that if the light were brought in, the darkness must 
necessarily be dispelled, but to argue for victory was inva- 
riably mischievous, because even though it were easy to 
confute, the real object should be to convince. “ The beam 
pour in, and time and skill will couch the blind,” was the 
plan on which Lady Olivia always acted. She had there- 
fore tried, for some time past, to attract Miss Neville’s at- 
tention towards the great doctrines of the gospel, thus by 
instilling truth to expunge error ; and one day Miss Neville 
listened with some appearance of interest, apparently glad 
to escape from her own thoughts, by any expedient that 
might occur, and was beginnitig to relax from her usual 
air of conscious superiority, when their conversation was 
brought to an untimely end by the drawing-room door being 
thrown open, and Sir Francis and Lady Howard were an- 
nounced. Miss Neville started up with a look of most ob- 
vious vexation, and gave a hasty glance at the opposite 
door, with evident intentions to escape, but she had scarcely 
time to make a hurried step in the direction of her medi- 
tated flight, before her retreat was cut off by Sir Francis, 
who laughingly intercepted her, declaring loudly that it was 
not fair to exercise her self-denial upon him. 

u Positively, Barbara, you must remain !” cried Lady 
Howard, in a tone of the greatest animation. 11 1 wish to 
hear everything about Mr. Harvey’s marriage ! what a 


256 


MODE UN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


strange business it is ! You have been very dost and un 
communicative not to let me into the secret, and I assure 
you it is quite a disappointment, for I had really begun tc 
look upon him as a future brother-in-law of my own ; now 
draw in your chair in a social way, and tell us all about it.” 

“ I know nothing on the subject, and never concern my- 
self with other people’s affairs so much as you do,” replied 
Miss Neville, peevishly. 

“ Then, let me announce what I bear,” replied Lady 
Howard, laughing. “ You will be perfectly charmed at our 
friend’s good fortune. The bride is a very rich widow with 
an enormous jointure ; but she is extremely plain, and I am 
sorry to tell you, a strict Roman Catholic. I am told that 
she changed her church about nine times, and was always 
like the men of Athens, seeking for some new thing, till she 
became so bewildered at last, that her mind hovered between 
total infidelity and Popish superstition, but some cardinal 
at Rome persuaded her that his was the true, original 
church, and she felt glad to be spared any longer forming 
her own opinions and altering them again. 

“ ‘ Now, madam ! if it be a lie, 

You have the tale as cheap as I.’ ” 

“ Miss Rachel Stodart and I have had very great doubts 
lately of Mr. Harvey being quite sound in his views,” said 
Miss Neville, gravely. 

11 I doubted his soundness always, Barbara, and yours 
too,” said Sir Francis, dryly ; “ but the whole of your coterie 
are to blame, for making such an idol of him. The pope 
himself has never been considered more infallible than Mr. 
Harvey was by you and your clique a few months ago. I 
never shall forget, dropping in accidentally one evening to 
see Tom Stodart, and finding a circle of above twenty ladies 
sitting round my old friend Frank Harvey, who was dealing 
out sentences to them like an oracle. The attention of the 
whole party was so breathless, that you might have heard 
a pin drop, and not one of his audience became conscious 
of my presence till I had nearly escaped. In most learned 
professions, a long apprenticeship is necessary before we be- 
gin to practice, — a grocer cannot sell currants, without hav 
ing previously graduated, and not one of you ladies would 
employ a milliner who had not gone through some long 
probation, but any person may become a drawing-room ex- 
positor upon the shortest notice.” 


OK THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


251 


u It reminds me of what Dr. Johnson once jocularly said 
that every man might be a minister who could gather a con 
gregation,” said Lady Howard. 

u I can answer for it a year ago, that Frank Harvey had 
never studied any notes but those of his own bank, nor 
thought more deeply about any book than his book of un- 
claimed dividends,” continued Sir Francis ; u so you may 
imagine how I was astonished to perceive his sudden meta- 
morphosis, and that I am less amazed than you are at his 
relapse into an undue admiration of money, in whatever 
form it may court his acceptance.” 

u I hope this will be a lesson to you for life, Barbara,” 
observed Lady Howard, in a most irritating tone of dignified 
remonstrance, u and that from henceforth you will avoid all 
theological adventurers, and return into the beaten track, — 
not wandering at random as you have hitherto done, after 
any stray preacher who may happen to please your taste.” 

“ I am happy to say you will be disappointed then,” re- 
plied Miss Neville, dryly. “ Your hopes on my account 
are entirely mistaken, as I have decided for some time past, 
to join Mr. M‘ Alpine’s congregation.” 

u What !” exclaimed Lady Howard, in a voice that seemed 
almost incredulous with astonishment. “ The manufacturer 
from Glasgow ?” 

“ It is of no avail remarking on the subject, as my mind 
is made up finally,” interrupted Miss Neville, sternly. 
11 You never heard such an original preacher in the world 
probably, as Mr. M^lpine. His wife is a sweet, superior 
woman : and upon some very difficult texts, she has made 
an important discovery.” 

u Discovery, indeed !” replied Lady Howard, satirically. 
“ I hate discoveries in religion, Barbara ! I always thought 
your next step would have been into the new Roman Cath- 
olic convent, but that will be a grand piece of excitement 
for you on some future occasion. Nothing is so delightful 
to our nature as making a sensation, and since it cannot be 
done often in the usual course of things, people who indulge 
their taste for creating one, must step aside from common 
custom occasionally.” 

“ Custom is the law of fools,” said Miss Neville, dryly. 

11 We heard some time ago, that your friend, Mrs. M‘ Alpine 
was going to establish a school in Greece,” said Sir Francis, 
u but probably she had not many qualifications for such a 


258 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


responsible undertaking, and at any rate I suppose she has 
abandoned the plan by this time.” 

« Not at all,” answered Miss Neville, with a singular mix* 
ture of triumph and embarrassment in her expression of 
countenance. “ The truth must be told sooner or later ; so 
it is as well to mention now, that I have some thoughts of 
accompanying the mission myself.” 

A considerable pause ensued, and a silence fell over the 
party that might almost be felt. Glances of consternation 
and wonder were exchanged by Miss Neville’s astonished 
auditors ; but not one word could be spoken for some min- 
utes. Lady Howard was the first to recover herself. 

“ Barbara ! I have often heard that every human being is 
out of his right mind about something, and I begin to be- 
lieve it,” said she, gravely. “We may as well follow By- 
ron’s advice at once, if people go on in this way : 

“ ‘ Shut up the sane — let the mad go free.’ ” 

“ I almost anticipated something of this kind, Barbara,” 
added Lady Olivia, in a tone of calm regret. “ It grieves, 
but it does not greatly surprise me.” 

“ Indeed you are scarcely so much shocked and aston- 
ished as I anticipated,” replied Miss Neville, looking rather 
disappointed at the composure of Lady Olivia’s tone and 
manner. “ I expected you to be violently opposed to the 
plan.” 

“No, Barbara,” said Lady Howard. “ You are come to 
that period of life which is commonly called i years of dis- 
cretion,’ if ever you are to reach them at all, so I shall not 
presume to interfere with any schemes, however strongly we 
disapprove of them ; but I should like you for once to hear 
what Olivia says upon the subject.” 

“ You know already, Maria, my extreme veneration for 
such missionaries as go out under proper sanction, with 
proper qualifications. Those who, after spending a life- 
time in fitting themselves for their laborious and important 
station, leave all the blessings of civilized society, and all 
the comforts of domestic life, to spend and be spent in their 
Master’s cause. It was such persons as these who first 
brought the light of truth to our own islands ; and we owe 
the same benefit, as a debt to all nations, where our influ- 
ence can extend. Missionaries like Schwartz, and Brainerd, 
and Marshman, and Martyn, who were prepared by deep ex- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


259 


perience, by years of fervent prayer, and by laborious study, 
to fulfil the solemn duties they had undertaken, and who 
exhibited a consistent example of all the patience, the 
virtue, and the self-denial they lived to inculcate ; but the 
persons you mention have had little experience, and no ed- 
ucation to fit them for so vast a responsibility, and there- 
fore they can be scarcely better than blind leaders of the 
blind.” 

“ Listen, Barbara,” said Sir Francis, slyly, u and you shall 
hear a plan which has this moment occurred to me, well de- 
serving serious consideration. It would comprise all the 
advantages you expect from this expedition to Greece, with- 
out any of the evils. I have a small village on my estate in 
Argyleshire, where the inhabitants are as idle, ignorant, and 
dirty, as any savages you could possibly desire to civilize. 
It has often been my wish to establish a school there ; and 
if you will study Gaelic, instead of Greek, you shall have 
the best cottage on my estate, and it would be really agreea- 
ble to have such a cheerful , pleasant neighbor at my shooting- 
box, when I go there for a few weeks in autumn.” 

Miss Neville rose with an air of offended dignity, when 
she perceived the jocular light in which Sir Francis was 
disposed to view her project, and stalked majestically out of 
the room, without intending to bestow any mark of attention 
on those she left behind ; but Sir Francis started up to open 
the door, and good-humoredly insisted on shaking hands, 
which she accordingly did, with the worst grace imaginable, 
and hastily made her exit, not even looking at him, or ap- 
pearing conscious of his attempt at conciliation. 

“ Poor Barbara !” observed Lady Howard, u her love of 
excitement is like the mark on Blue-Beard’s key, — rub it 
out on one side, and it starts forth on another, where you 
least expect it.” 

I have long known,” said Sir Francis, resuming his seat, 
u that it is possible for people to be amiable without being 
religious ; but I do maintain, that no one should pretend 
to be religious who is not amiable, because I think it an 
impossibility, and a libel upon what they profess, which 
must do mischief to all who see them. Why should any 
one go abroad to teach, who cannot set a good example at 
home ? but, to be sure, that is by far the more difficult un- 
dertaking of the two, just as it was the chief difficulty of 
the monarch, to continue great in the eyes of his valet, who 
knew him best. I see more and more every day how the 


260 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


world is deceived in its estimate of people who do not even 
intend to mislead their neighbors; and I. am resolved, on 
all occasions, to suspend my opinion of any one who has the 
reputation of sanctity, till I hear it confirmed by his wife, his 
mother, his sisters, or his children.” 

“ What would become, then, of poor Mr. Harvey ?” said 
Lady Howard ; “ for I know that he preserves a stern and 
remorseless silence on the subject of religion towards his 
deaf old father, who differs from him in opinion, but who 
would attend with pleasure if he conversed with him as he 
does with strangers. He would be exceedingly thankful, I 
have no doubt, if by any miracle, his father became con- 
verted ; but there is less excitement in attempting the task 
himself, which is a mere common duty, than there is in 
bestowing his care as a boon elsewhere ; and after paying 
the old gentleman a hasty visit occasionally, he flies off to 
the obscure garret of some poor pensioner, whom he exhorts 
and consoles with untiring zeal. Charity, in his case, should 
begin at home, though of course it should not end there.” 

“ Be not righteous over-much,” said Sir Francis, in an 
undertone. 

u There is no text of scripture so frequently quoted as 
that,” said Lady Olivia ; “ but few seem afraid of infringing 
on the injunction that follows : ‘ Be not over-wise.’ It is the 
ostentation of these qualities, and not the existence of 
them, that I think we are cautioned to avoid.” 

“ Nothing perplexes me so painfully as the faults of really 
good, pious people,” said Sir Francis Howard. “ There are 
a few whom I would be willing to esteem sincere, were it 
nor for the strangest inconsistencies, which sometimes aston- 
ish, and always shock me.” 

“ You see only the strength of the disease, but not the 
efficacy of the remedy ; and so long as a symptom of evil 
remains, you are apt to blame the medicine instead of the 
patient,” replied Lady Olivia. “We often expect, with 
sanguine hope, to find perfection in Christians ; and when 
defects appear, let us not blame religion instead of nature. 
What would those people become without the purifying 
influences of Gospel truth ? and how little we can know the 
tears and the anguish with which they may have deplored 
those very sins which have offended us! Christians are to 
be tried, like gold, in the fire ; but still they continue in the 
furnace of temptation and of sorrow during the whole period 
that our existence is prolonged. When the heart is per- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


261 


fected can only be after we are translated to a new existence. 
1 have often admired the tomb-stone of Klopstock’s wife, 
on which two wheat sheaves are carved, lying carelessly 
together, and this motto is engraved, 1 The fruit shall ripen 
in heaven.’” 

“ What I object to, most seriously, in modern enthusiasm, 
is, that it seems to raise people above natural duties and 
public opinion. The scriptures tell us to avoid the very 
appearance of evil,” said Lady Howard ; “ but many people 
now are selfishly indifferent to the effect their conduct may 
have upon the belief of others, and would brave calumny 
itself rather than put the ordinary curb of social custom 
upon themselves. Their favorite text most frequently 
quoted is, that the godly shall suffer persecution, and their 
very plain inference is, that all who are persecuted must be 
godly. Grood-bye, Olivia ! I am sorry to deprive you of the 
pleasure of my company so soon, but I have an appointment 
with Millar on the interesting subject of a newly-invented 
jam or jelly which we are to sit in judgment upon this 
morning ; but I leave you Sir Francis, and I know he will 
be delighted to renew our discussion about the observance 
of Sunday ; for ‘ e’en though vanquish’d he can argue still ;’ 
and I know he dislikes less to be conquered by you than by 
any one else in the world, as you bear your honors so 
meekly.” 

“ Then to say the truth, Olivia, I am still decidedly of 
opinion, that too much legislation on the Sabbath, either in 
families or in nations, is injurious,” said Sir Francis, draw- 
ing in his chair with a positive look ; “ and you will proba- 
bly be shocked to hear, that much as I respect religion, I 
never wish myself in the House of Commons, except to vote 
against any measure for rendering people religious by act 
of parliament.” 

“ And if wishing for a vote would give me one,” replied 
Lady Olivia, in a lively tone, “ I should take the opposite 
side, so we may consider ourselves as having tied off, and 
carry on our debate with closed doors at home.” 

“ My idea is,” said Sir Francis, “ that you cannot force 
people to be pious ; for as the vulgar proverb says, 4 you 
may take a horse to the water, but you cannot make him 
drink.’ ” 

u Yet, if you keep water out of his reach entirely, he 
will perish ; nnd therefore, though you cannot produce the 
thirst that would make hii l enjoy it, you must render it a o- 


262 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


cessible to all,” said Lady Olivia. “We must either oblige 
those who defy the law of God to observe in some degree the 
outward form of a Sabbath, or they will inevitably force 
others to break it, and in such a case we need scarcely say 
which deserves protection most. If a poor man could work 
during the twenty-four hours of every day, there would be 
many indigent persons whose desperate poverty would induce 
them to undertake it ; but would you call that man enthusi- 
astic or interfering, who came forward to convince the poor 
exhausted creatures, that they would be actually no richer 
on account of this addition to their labor, — that their mas- 
ters were wrong to exact it of them ; and that they destroyed 
their strength, and shortened their lives by it, besides de- 
feating that wise purpose of Providence, who has appointed 
that rest shall invariably succeed to labor.’’ 

“Ah! that is an extreme statement of the case,” replied 
Sir Francis. “ Bodily rest, of course, they must have ; even 
my best hunters cannot work every day of the week, and I 
should have to keep more of them, if it were not for the 
interval of a day in seven to refresh both them and 
myself.” 

“ But rest, Sir Francis, is quite as necessary for the soul 
as for the body ; and can we be too earnest in desiring that 
the toil-worn mechanic shall have one day in seven to ele- 
vate his mind above the brutes that perish, by remembering 
that he is immortal, — to anticipate that time, when the curse 
of sin being removed, he shall no longer be called to earn 
his bread by the sweat of his brow, but when he shall enter 
on that kingdom of rest and glory to which the rich and 
the poor are alike invited ?” 

K Do you seriously imagine, Olivia, that the poor people 
you describe would make any such exalted use of their 
leisure, as your fancy has pictured ?” answered Sir Francis. 
“ It is quite unlike your usual good sense to be so poetical, 
especially when we consider, that the persons who are chiefly 
to benefit by your supposed day of complete leisure and me- 
ditation, are post-boys, butchers, bakers, coach-drivers, and 
fish-mongers, who would most likely all spend it in the ale- 
house.” 

“We cannot help that, cei tainly,” replied Lady Olivia. 
“ I would only desire to remove every incentive to secular 
business on that day, and then let each individual act on his 
own personal responsibility, as he shall answer for himself 
alone at the day of judgment. If you could but witness 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


26 ; 


Sir Francis, as I have seen it, a Sabbath of rest enjoyed in 
the humblest dwellings of the pious poor in this neighbor- 
hood, your heart would glow with new feelings of gratitude 
to God, that he has provided such a foretaste of heaven for 
those who have little else to render life endurable, except 
the hope of another and a better.” 

u Yet they must often be at a loss how to occupy the 
time,” said Sir Erancis. “ Even in the upper classes, with 
every resource of reading and conversation, how heavily tho 
day hangs upon our hands.” 

“ That is too true in some cases,” replied Lady Olivia. 
u But to a devout Christian in the higher circles, every day 
is in some degree a Sabbath. He has leisure at all times to 
indulge his domestic affections, to read, to reflect, and to 
pray ; but to a poor man who can truly estimate the enjoy- 
ments of a Sabbath, there is amongst a thousand other ad- 
vantages the pleasure of contrast ; and in no respect do you 
see how truly the Great Creator knew what was good for 
those he had made, than in viewing the peace and happi- 
ness, and even the refinement of intellect, which are intro- 
duced into the poorest hovel by a due observance of the 
Sabbath. I do not pretend to say in what manner it might 
be best promoted ; but I think, that every detail connected 
with that subject ought to undergo the auxious consideration 
of those who could ascertain how each regulation would 
bear upon the temporal or eternal welfare of those whose 
best interests are at stake, and this is the only subject, Sir 
Francis, on which I am really a politician.” 

“ So much the better ! I think a female politician is as 
unnatural a being as a man-milliner ; and I never hear 
ladies discussing the government of this country, without 
thinking of the fly who felt competent to criticise the cu- 
pola of St. Paul’s. I would never willingly allow ladies to 
take a newspaper in their hands, — let them keep to their 
piano-fortes.” 

“ Not so fast, Sir Francis,” replie-d Lady Olivia, smiling. 
“ Y ou will allow that every lady should inform herself on 
the history of her own times, though with no more idea of 
influencing its political management, than a passenger in 
the London mail would entertain of directing the coachman 
how to drive it.” 

u To be sure !” replied Sir Francis, u I enjoy amusing 
nonsense beyond all measure ; but the dull pompous non- 
sense that some ladios deliver out, by way of enlightening 


264 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


one on the state of the nation, would make a hyena laugh. 
My better (or worse) half is always groping in the dark to 
find out her own meaning after she gets upon politics. 
When she treats of paper currency, or the corn laws, I have 
seen her flounder on wonderfully well, but she is dreadfully 
bewildered in discussing our foreign policy. I have seen 
her very fluent, and almost intelligible, on tithes and cor- 
porations, for she has really got up the subject so thorough- 
ly, that I sometimes almost begin to fancy she understands 
it, and you can have no idea how her eyes glitter with ani- 
mation, when a favorable opportunity occurs to introduce 
her favorite opinions. Indeed she does it so skilfully, and 
they come in so often, a propos to everything, or to nothing, 
that it often reminds me of the cosmogony of the world in 
the Vicar of Wakefield. Let ladies study the political 
economy of their own families, — the ways and means in 
their housekeepers’ bills ; the foreign policy of their visiting- 
books ; and the pension-list of such poor dependants as they 
can themselves relieve ; let them abolish all slavery amongst 
their servants and children ; let them wage a perpetual war 
against all domestic disorders ; and let them also establish 
a treaty of commerce with their milliner and dress-maker 
on the most advantageous terms. I am a keen advocate 
for everything being done J in order,’ and as men are ini- 
tiated more systematically into the labyrinth of political 
economy, it may be conceded to us without supposing any 
particular pre-eminence of natural intellect, that we shall 
know our trade best, and take a more comprehensive view 
of the whole business, than those who merely pick up a 
little superficial knowledge of it in conversation, or from a 
perusal of the leading article in some newspaper, which is 
probably a blind partizan of one party or other. Many 
keen politicians act like the Irish judge, who said he did 
not like to hear both sides of a question, because it con- 
fused him.” 

li Lady Olivia, before I go,” said Sir Francis Howard with 
gravity, which was quite unusual in him, and which greatly 
surprised her, “ let me tell you, for I know how happy you 
will be to hear it, the pleasure I have enjoyed lately from 
seeing more of your protegee and pupil, Matilda. She 
reads to me frequently now, and we generally fall into con- 
versation afterwards, when she always contrives to make 
herself entertaining; and has several times mentioned re* 
marks she has heard from you. or circumstances which you 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 265 

Lave told her, that have made more impression on me than 
you would suppose. If my girl is in any respect what is 
estimable, she owes it to you. and I cannot refrain from 
saying how warmly I feel it now, and how much more 
deeply I may be sensible of the advantage hereafter, when 
years and infirmities shall have made me more dependent 
upon the amiable qualities and mental acquirements of those 
around me. She is a Christian after your own pattern, 
Olivia ; and I almost think that in time she will make me 
one also.” 

As Sir Francis and Lady Howard departed from Ash- 
grove, and advanced along the garden walk, Lady Olivia 
followed them with her eyes, which were filled with tears of 
deep sensibility. All great emotion has a melancholy tone, 
which often rises, when the heart is touched, to holy feel- 
ings of solemnity, and always in her mind turned directly 
to sentiments of reverential devotion : “ My prayers are 
heard, and my work on earth is done !” thought Lady 
Olivia Neville, while a profound sensation - of thankfulness 
and peace diffused itself over her thoughts. “ My strength 
is daily diminishing, and my days will soon be numbered, 
but another has been raised up to fill my place in that la- 
bor of love which has so long been nearest my heart ; and 
when I am called, as will soon be the case, to continue my 
existence in brighter scenes than these, may my supplica- 
tions for her and for them be remembered and answered, till 
we meet to part no more. 

“ ‘ The race appointed I have run ; 

The combat’s o’er the prize is won; 

And now my witness is on high, 

And now my record ’s in the sky.’ ” 

12 


266 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


“ Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here 
And stay’d thy progress to the realms of bliss.” 


It was about the middle of April when Eleanor Fitz-Pa- 
trick set out with Sir Richard to take possession of “ her 
property,” as she delighted to call Barnard Castle, and there 
she was received with an uproar of joy by the numerous 
tenantry, bonfires blazed on every hill, and a succession of 
joyous festivities ensued, with bagpipes, tartan, -and whisky 
a discretion , none of her guests being members of any tem- 
perance society, or else having obtained themselves a tem- 
porary dispensation from its discipline. 

Meantime Sir Francis Howard, who had recently pur- 
chased a small estate near Kelso, for the benefit of hunting 
at the Scottish Melton, became impatient to proceed there, 
but several circumstances combined to detain him in Edin- 
burgh, which produced a happy reprieve to Matilda, who 
dreaded to leave her beloved aunt in so precarious a state 
of health, because it almost seemed to her apprehensions as 
if such a separation would be final. 

Sir Francis Howard was one morning snatching an early 
breakfast in Moray Place, impatiently anticipating a delight- 
ful day’s hunting near the Roman Camp, as the weather was 
propitious, and he had sent forward his favorite hunter, 
“ Topsy-turvy,” which had long been celebrated for its fine 
action and unrivalled speed. Matilda always stole down 
when she knew that her father was going any distance to 
cover, as she then invariably found him in brilliant spirits, 
and she poured out his tea, and laughed at all his jests, with 
the keenest enjoyment, which pleased and amused him so 
much, that he was always in a jocular mood when Matilda 
and he were together alone, and every day increased the 
pride which he evidently felt in his daughter, and the gentle 
influence which she acquired over his mind and affections. 

“ I hate the sight of you, Matilda,” said he, laughing, 
4t for you make me feel so ridiculously old, that I almost 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


267 


think you should be introduced as my sister. It astonishes 
people to see a good-looking young fellow like me with a 
grown-up daughter, and actually some of my brother sports- 
men begin to inquire for you already, as if they meant to 
become victims. Only imagine how awkward it will be if 
my old friend General Cleaveland were suddenly to turn 
round upon me with a proposal, — or the venerable Lord Bel- 
more ; for the older a man is, the younger he chooses his 
wife to be, as if it struck the balance of years between them.” 

“ Papa, I wish no harm may happen to us, for you are 
perfectly fey this morning, as the Highlanders call it,” re- 
plied Matilda. “ I really never saw you in greater spirits, 
and that new horse has such an un tameable temper, and such 
an ominous name, that I am always terrified when you 
mount him.” 

“ Pshaw, nonsense ! If I attended to every body’s fears 
and anxieties, I should soon be like the Irishman who de- 
clared that this world was no longer a safe place for him to 
live in,” said Sir Francis. “ What can a girl like you be 
supposed to know about horses — if you see a tolerable head 
and tail, with a few graces that would fit him for Astley’s, 
the merest Bosinante in the world would pass for a perfect 
beauty — but my hunters must have good legs to carry me 
across such a country as this, or they are fit for nothing, and 
1 Topsy-turvy’ would take me over the garden-wall with 
ease, if I put him up to it. Even an ox-fence at Melton is 
a mere joke to him, and he always brings me forward in 
time for the finish.” 

u He is a splendid looking animal certainly,” replied 
Matilda, “ and as wild as if he had been only caught in an 
American prairie an hour ago. What is to be the name 
of that young hunter you bought from Major Foley yester- 
day?” 

“ I called him Laurel, because he is a bay,” replied Sir 
Francis. 

“ Papa, that pun is quite as atrocious as the one you put 
Sir Colin Fletcher out of countenance about, long ago, when 
he told mamma she seemed musically inclined, as she was 
eating hautboys. Mr. Grant has called his new horse 
* Business,’ because, then, wherever he goes, he is always out 
on business. I suppose you will have a brilliant field to- 
day, the weather is propitious, and I have observed several 
weather-beaten scarlet coats passing already.” 

u Yes,” said Sir Francis, with animation, “ I pity every 


268 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


man in the world who does not hunt this morning, for the 
most perfect felicity is, to ride such a horse as mine on such 
a day. I need not even say, like Madame de Pompadour, 
when she drank off her glass of cold water, £ Oh ! that this 
were a sin, to give it a relish.’” 

“ What an odious woman !” exclaimed Matilda. “ It is 
shocking to see any one assume the gay prerogative of say- 
ing, even in jest, what is wicked, especially when we remem- 
ber, that for every idle word a solemn reckoning is to be 
made hereafter.” 

“ Yet, Matilda, people who are resolved to shine in con- 
versation, must generally speak at random a little, without 
weighing what they say too carefully, for it is very true , 1 que 
la confiance fournit plus a la conversation que V esprit .'' — But I 
must be off, so good by, my dear girl, and take care of your- 
self. I still hope to have ten years’ good hunting, in spite 
of your distrust about Topsy-turvy’s temper, and after I 
grow old and heavy, we shall enjoy a quiet trot together 
along the road occasionally, or a canter by the sea-side ; 
meantime you may always depend upon my staying at home 
with you in a hard frost, when we shall read and talk to- 
gether for the future, till it thaws again.” 

K Thank you, papa, ten thousand thanks for your welcome 
promise,” cried Matilda eagerly. “ I would live upon an 
ice-berg for the next month, to enjoy your society there.” 

11 1 cannot quite return the compliment, Matilda ; but I 
do say that there is no one with whom I would rather spend 
a rainy morning by the fireside, and I hope we shall enjoy 
one yet, if you are not the first to desert ; but I know of 
somebody who will try to eclipse me in your good graces 
soon, and who is very well deserving to succeed. I must 
say no more at present, but you may depend upon one thing, 
that Eleanor, with all her fortune, will never find his equal. 
Adieu for the present, and solve my mystery if you can,” 
added Sir Francis, giving one of his most riante glances to- 
wards his daughter. “ Your mother knows nothing about it 
yet, but I prophesy that when the sky falls we shall catch 
larks.” 

When Matilda was alone, she thought with astonishment 
of all that Sir Francis had said before he left the room, but 
when she reflected on his insatiable love of a joke, and the 
rallying tone in which he had spoken, she found it impossi- 
ble, as she had often felt it before, to ascertain whether he 
was in jest or in earnest, but her conjectures and medita 


OR THE MARCH u F INTELLECT 


2G9 


tions were suddenly put to flight by the unexpected re-en- 
trance of her father himself, whose expression of counte- 
nance was entirely altered from its usual hilarity^, to a look 
of anxiety and extreme agitation. 

“ I wish all may be well at Ashgrove,” he said hastily. 
u Your aunt did not look well when we were there on Friday, 
and this note for you has been sent by express. The man 
who brought it is a stranger, and he says that his orders 
were to ride at full speed.” 

Matilda held out her trembling hand for the letter, and 
tore it open with a palpitating heart, for she augured too 
surely the nature of its contents, which were worse than her 
utmost anticipation of evil. Our heroine read with grief and 
consternation a few lines from Millar to say, that Lady 
Olivia Neville had been suddenly seized during the night 
with a succession of fainting fits, which had been so alarm- 
ing, that immediate apprehensions were entertained by Dr. 
Mansfield for her life. 

“ Order the carriage instantly,” cried Sir Francis Howard 
in a hurried voice to the servant, while Matilda sunk into 
her chair, nearly insensible with agitation, <: and tell Bing- 
ham I shall not hunt to-day, so he may put up the horses. 
Matilda,” added he, with a look of profound emotion, “ Lady 
Olivia may probably not be able to see me, but I must ac- 
company you to the cottage, for I wish to show the utmost 
respect to one whom we have both so much reason to vene- 
rate and love. Say nothing to your mother at present, she 
has not risen, and would detain us for an hour about her 
keys and directions to the servants. I never saw any one in 
my life so unconscious of time, but I shall leave a message, 
and she can follow.” 

It was no ordinary feeling that could have induced Sir 
Francis to relinquish so readily his day’s hunting ; but with- 
out casting a transient thought of regret upon the loss, he 
threw himself into his travelling chariot beside our heroine, 
and drew down all the blinds. They proceeded in melan- 
choly silence along the road, for Matilda’s heart was too full 
to speak, and the way had never before appeared to be so 
endlessly long. It was the first time she had ever approached 
that house without the most joyful anticipations, and when 
she remembered the affectionate smile which had invariably 
greeted her arrival there, a fresh burst of grief overpowered 
her, to think how probably that smile would be wanting 
now and forever. 


270 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


A group of poor people surrounded the door when their 
carriage drew up, whose distressed countenances showed evi- 
dently that the rumor of Lady Olivia’s danger had already 
reached them ; but they all respectfully drew back when Sir 
Francis and Matilda passed. The old butler could not look 
up when he opened the door, and Millar appeared at a short 
distance, with her countenance bathed in tears, and beckoned 
for Matilda to come instantly to Lady Olivia’s room. “She 
has asked for you several times, and will be so happy you 
are come at last.” 

“ How is my aunt ?” said Matilda, in breathless agitation. 
Without waiting for an answer she hastened into her bed- 
room, but could not for some minutes advance farther than 
the door, overpowered by her feelings, and deeply impressed 
by the scene which she there contemplated. The tranquil 
and serene countenance of Lady Olivia Neville had become 
so entirely colorless as to be scarcely distinguishable from 
the pillow on which it rested. Dr. Mansfield felt her pulse 
with a look of deep concern and anxiety, while her eyes re- 
mained intently fixed on the white-haired and venerable Mr. 
Arnold, who was audibly engaged in prayer. Matilda’s eye 
finally rested on a figure which was nearly concealed in a 
remote part of the room, evidently shunning observation, 
and so buried in uncontrollable grief, that some moments 
elapsed before she recognized Miss Barbara Neville, whose 
countenance seemed convulsed with weeping, in all the deso- 
lation of natural, unaffected sorrow. Nothing could be more 
solemn and affecting than the prayer of Mr. Arnold, nor dic- 
tated by a spirit of deeper humility and implicit confidence 
in the mediation of Christ, as our only access to the mercy 
of God, and in the influence of the Holy Spirit, as the sole 
means of fitting us for glory and happiness hereafter. Lady 
Olivia closed her eyes in heartfelt acquiescence when he con- 
cluded, and seemed to be silently engaged in fervent sup- 
plication. 

“ My kind friend,” she said at length, in broken accents 
“ it cheers me to hear once more that voice which so long 
assisted my devotions at the house of God. Tell me, Dr. 
Mansfield, for I can hear it with thankfulness and compo- 
sure, when do you expect that my existence here shall come 
to a termination ? It appears to me very near.” 

The good and sympathizing doctor mournfully declared, 
that from the state of extreme exhaustion to which his 
patient was so suddenly reduced, he feared her anticipations 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


2 71 


were but too correct, and that he apprehended a few hours 
would probably close her earthly career. 

“ At last !” said Lady Olivia, slowly turning her eyes 
towards heaven, with a look of unspeakable solemnity. 
“ Glory be to God, I am prepared !” 

Her thoughts were some moments afterwards recalled 
from the feeling of intense anticipation with which they 
were occupied, by an irresistible call on her sympathy ; for 
Matilda Howard approached with a countenance already 
haggard by the recent shock, and clasping the hand of 
Lady Olivia in her own, she kissed it with passionate eager- 
ness, and rivetted her hold, as if she would thus have en- 
deavored to avert the stroke which was about to separate 
them, while she gazed in the face of her departing friend 
with a look of tearless anguish. 

“ Be comforted, dearest Matilda,” said Lady Olivia, feebly. 
“ Forget your own sorrow for a moment, and think how soon 
I shall be with Christ. Seek him continually, and we shall 
meet again. It is a sad separation, my child. It grieves 
me to reflect that you will have sufferings and sorrows of 
your own to endure, and that I shall not be here to sympa- 
thize with you. But oh! Matilda! think how short is the 
forever of this world, and weep as though you wept not ; for 
all will soon be over, except that part of our lives which has 
been sanctified to God, and which will remain blessed to us 
throughout eternity. Speak to her, Mr. Arnold ; you know 
all, and I can say no more. She needs consolation ; for 1 
can tell all she suffers in losing a friend, whose best earthly 
comfort she has so long been considered. My own children 
never were dearer to me.” 

u Blessed ! oh ! how blessed ! are the dead that die in the 
Lord,” said Mr. Arnold, impressively. “ Soon shall we all 
stand as our beloved friend does, on the verge of eternity. 
May our hope be as humble and as secure. We sorrow now, 
but we must also rejoice. My dear young lady, would you 
delay the wearied courser when he reaches the goal ? — the 
worn-out traveller when he gains the summit of the moun- 
tain ? — or the tempest-tossed mariner who finds refuge at 
last in his long-desired haven? Why then should you 
grieve for Lady Olivia? Think only of the blessed ex- 
change that awaits her, from a life of sorrow to an eternity 
of blessedness!” 

u Yes,” replied Matilda, bursting into tears ; “ I know 
that well ; but for my own sake — for the sake of all who 


272 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


are dear to me — for every one on earth except herself, — 1 
must dearest aunt, I must be allowed to weep.” 

“ Nor would I forbid it, my beloved Matilda,” answered 
Lady Olivia tenderly. “ Your affection has long been one 
precious gem amidst the wreck of every earthly attachment; 
and there is no human being who would not feel soothed, as 
I do, by the consciousness that tears such as yours will 
follow my silent dust to the grave, and sanctify my memory 
in your remembrance.” 

“Yes; forever!” sobbed Matilda. “What will life be 
without you ? Oh ! how cheerless and lonely !” 

“ I know what it is to weep in solitary grief,” whispered 
Lady Olivia, in a tone of exhaustion ; “ but much as I feel 
for you, I would not spare one sorrow that our heavenly 
Father sees to be necessary, if it would but give you here- 
after such peace and joy as I have at this moment, and 
which I know to be only the commencement of an eternity 
as blessed.” 

Matilda clasped her hands, and silently looked towards 
heaven, with an expression of intense devotion ; but she 
could not speak. 

“ Poor Eleanor ! she is much in my thoughts to-night,” 
added Lady Olivia, “ Tell her, Matilda, my last prayer 
for her was, that she may not be tempted to make this world 
her portion, or ever to think that it can satisfy an immortal 
soul. She has much to mislead her now. May the Almighty 
direct her heart aright. You may both have many years 
yet of earthly happiness to come, and I earnestly trust it 
will be consistent with your good,” continued Lady Olivia, 
after a long pause to recover strength. “ But should it be 
otherwise, then rest assured, my child, that the furnace of 
suffering is also a furnace to purify. I now look back, and 
rejoice to think, that by affliction I have been prepared to 
leave this world without regret, except for you and our be- 
loved Eleanor. It seems but yesterday since my widowed 
heart first told me that life must henceforth be a long course 
of solitary mourning ; but, Matilda, all which is said of our 
fleeting existence seems now but a faint emblem of its rapid 
flight, — the path of an arrow — the vapor that appeareth for 
a moment — the weaver’s shuttle — and the track of a vessel 
on the tide.” 

Lady Olivia’s voice became inaudible from weakness ; but 
while Matilda glanced at the calm and sanctified expression 
which beamed on the countenance of her aunt, when recall- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


273 


ing the memory of sorrow now eternally at an end, she felt 
that it must indeed have been sent in mercy, when the fruit 
was so blessed. 

For some hours Dr. Mansfield enjoined repose ; and after 
his departure perfect stillness reigned throughout the apart- 
ment, where sorrow and anxiety were too keenly felt to be 
audibly expressed. Even amidst the depth of her own 
affliction, Matilda could not help giving an occasional glance 
of compassionate kindness towards Miss Neville, who re- 
mained with her face buried in her handkerchief, leaning on 
the table, and perfectly immovable ; but our heroine could 
not venture to intrude upon the privacy which she so evi- 
dently courted, seeing she never raised up her head for a 
moment, except when the distant tones of Lady Olivia’s 
voice were audible, and then she listened with breathless 
attention. 

Towards evening, having apparently recovered some 
strength, Lady Olivia opened her eyes, and fixed them for 
some moments, with an expression of the tenderest interest, 
on Matilda, who arose, and silently kissed her pallid cheek. 

“ Is your mother come ?” said Lady Olivia, with some 
difficulty. u Let me see her and Sir Francis once again. 
I know how they both would value my last blessing.” 

Matilda hastily withdrew, and a few moments afterwards 
she stood between her father and mother beside the couch 
of their expiring friend, who faintly turned to them with a 
transient smile of heartfelt kindness. 

u May the best mercies of heaven rest on you all !” said 
she, fervently ; u and when your mortal bodies are called to 
pay the universal penalty, as I am about to do, may your 
immortal souls be at peace as mine is, with the hope of par- 
don and everlasting life through Christ our Saviour.” 

Sir Francis solemnly bent his head in token of entire 
acquiescence in the prayer, and a deep sob from Lady 
Howard told more than words could have done, the depth 
of her grief. 

“ Barbara !” said Lady Olivia, faintly extending her 
hand, “ I know you are not far distant.” 

Miss Neville instantly approached with averted counte- 
nance, and making a vain attempt to assume the appear- 
ance of composure ; but after struggling with her feelings 
for some moments, she covered her face with her handker- 
chief and burst into tears. 

u Maria !” continued Lady Olivia, gently clasping the two 

12 


274 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 


sisters’ hands in her own. “Before my eyes are dimmed 
by death, let me see you both united in heart, let me die in 
the hope that you will hereafter be kindly aflectioned one 
towards another.” 

She looked with an air of anxious entreaty towards Lady 
Howard, who struggled for some moments against her long- 
cherished aversion, and against the ruling pride of her 
heart ; but at length nature and feeling prevailed, and be- 
ing moved, above all, by the sight of Miss Neville’s un- 
feigned distress, she clasped her in her arms, while they 
wept together with a degree of mutual sympathy which no 
other event could have produced. 

“ Sir Francis, I have provided that she shall want for 
nothing but kindness. That I cannot now supply,” said 
Lady Olivia, looking earnestly towards him while he stood 
near the bed with an expression of profound emotion. 
“ Matilda will do much, but you and Maria might do still 
more.” 

“Your wishes are sacred to us all,” replied he, mourn- 
fully ; “ but, alas ! who shall supply your place, Olivia, to 
her or to any of us ?” 

“ He who never leaves nor forsakes us. — Oh! seek him, Sir 
Francis, and then no sorrow will deserve the name. We 
part in sadness, but in His presence let us meet again with 

joy. I would be alone now, nature is exhausted,” 

whispered Lady Olivia, almost inaudibly ; “ Matilda will 
remain, and let you know when any change takes place.” 

Sir Francis kindly and considerately drew the arm of 
Miss Neville within his own, and supported her out of the 
room in silence, followed by Lady Howard, who suddenly 
turned back, moved by an irresistible impulse of emotion ; 
and having once more kissed the cheek of Lady Olivia, she 
rushed out and hastened to a solitary apartment, where, 
sinking on her knees in an agony of grief, she consigned 
herself to the indulgence of deep, unmitigated sorrow, and 
hours fled and darkness closed unheeded, for still she wept, 
while memory continued to pour in its tide of tender and 
affecting recollections. Our heroine remained immoveably 
stationed beside her aunt in almost breathless silence, till 
at length she called her forward. 

“ Matilda, my child, my last earthly care! can I do no- 
thing for you ?” said Lady Olivia, rousing the little strength 
that remained after resting for nearly an hour, and looking 
fondly at our heroine “ I have solemnly committed you to 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


275 


Him who has been the unfailing resource of thousands in 
all ages, now rejoicing before the glorious Trinity in heaven. 
It is a multitude whom no man can number ; and oh ! how 
blessed is the prospect of soon uniting my voice in that per- 
petual anthem of praise which ascends in ceaseless grati- 
tude to Him who loved the souls of men.” 

Lady Olivia remained for some time in silent and ele- 
vated meditation, while her eyes shone with serenity, and 
the color faintly tinged her countenance, producing momen- 
tary life and animation. 

“ I shall see that benignant and holy Saviour who visit- 
ed this world of sin for our sakes. I shall behold his pro- 
phets and apostles, and the holy men of every successive 
age whom I have loved and honored. I shall meet again 
those dear ones of earth who were never absent from my 
thoughts. I go to such joys as the heart of man cannot 
conceive ! and yet Matilda, though we see as through a 
glass darkly, enough is revealed of our blessed prospects to 
show that an eternity amidst the choicest blessings of this 
world would be less than nothing in the balance. I pray, 
my child, that you may follow me ; and whether the path 
along which you are led to glory be strewed with roses or 
hedged in with thorns, it will matter but little if the Holy 
Spirit be your guide and comforter. Shall it not be sOj 
Matilda ? Shall not a few years restore us to each other ? 
Then let us now thank God that my passage is short and 
easy to the glories of eternal day.” 

Matilda could not reply, but she slowly sunk on her knees 
beside the couch of Lady Olivia, who breathed forth a prayer 
so profoundly touching, so full of cheerful faith and holy re- 
signation, so abounding in bright anticipations of the future, 
and in deepest tenderness for those she left behind, that be- 
fore the sublime strain of her adoration and praise was con- 
cluded, Matilda felt as if she were herself on the verge of 
eternity, and as if no worldly sorrow could ever reach her 
more. 

It was long after midnight when our heroine, who had 
lighted her candles and remained stationary by the bed of 
her aunt, wrapt in serious meditation, and occasionally read- 
ing in the Holy Scriptures, became suddenly struck with 
surprise at an unusual quietness which reigned in the room, 
— not a breath was heard, — not a sound was uttered, but the 
stillness of death seemed around her. Slowly and fearfully 
she drew aside the curtain, and gazed into the bed. One 


27G 


MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


glance was sufficient to reveal the dreadful truth, and Ma- 
tilda discovered, with a degree of awe too solemn for the in- 
dulgence of any human emotion, that the spirit of Lady Oli- 
via Neville had fled forever. Her lips were parted, and 
still bore the traces of a peaceful smile — her eyes were 
turned towards heaven, and the color yet lingered in her 
cheek. The pillow was unruffled, and one hand rested 
loosely on the quilt, while the other was placed beneath her 
head in the attitude of deep repose. 

She slept, indeed, for it was the sleep of death, in which 
her body was to await that call which shall restore our slum- 
bering dust to a GLORIOUS RESURRECTION. 

In vain my fancy strives to paint 
The moment* after death, 

The glories that surround the saint, 

In yielding up his breath. 

This much, and this is all we know, 

They are completely blest. 

Have done with sin, and care, and woe, 

And in the Saviour rest. 

One gentle sigh their fetters breaks, 

We scarce can say they’re gone, 

Before the willing spirit takes 
Her mansion near the throne. 

Faith strives, but all its efforts fail, 

To trace them in their flight, 

No eye can pierce within the veil 
Which hides that world of light. 

Cowper. 


THE EN». 


MODERN SOCIETY: 


OR, 

THE MARCH OF INTELLECT 


THE 


CONCLUSION OF MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


BY 

MISS CATHARINE SINCLAIR, 

»v 

AUTHOR OF “MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS,” “CHARLIE SEYMOUR,” ETC., ETC. 


“ Thus happiness depends, as Nature shows, 
Less on exterior things than most suppose.” 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, 

No. 530 BROADWAY. 


1861. 



























































PREFACE. 


An attempt is made in this volume to contrast the happiness 
offered to us by our Maker with the happiness which we invent for 
ourselves, — to exemplify a wide difference between the “living 
fountain and the broken cistern.” In our own experience, we find 
that the one resembles the purity and clearness of the early dawn, 
which grows brighter and brighter till the perfect day, while the 
other may be compared to an evening twilight, beginning in still 
gaudier hues, but growing gradually darker, till it settles into the 
gloom of night. 

While thus representing two opposite states of enjoyment, which 
might justly be called a parallel, since they are lines which can 
never be made to meet, no hesitation has been felt in representing 
worldly as well as spiritual enjoyments in the brightest colors, be- 
cause the superiority of the latter are more conspicuous in propor- 
tion to the accuracy with which both can be depicted. Those, in- 
deed, who have experienced the blessedness of Christian peace, 
require no demonstration of its unrivalled excellence ; but the case 
is otherwise with those who are ignorant of the Gospel, and have 
never felt that joy “ which no man knoweth, saving he that receiveth 
it.” Many, also, who would close at once the page of formal in- 
struction or grave rebuke, may be induced to bestow attention on a 
familiar narrative, exhibiting the development of taste and feeling 
in the genuine Christian character, and to acknowledge that the 
highest achievement of fashionable education is to make us appear 
amiable, and appear happy, while it is the peculiar province of 
Christian principle to turn these appearances into reality. Works 
of imagination have this additional advantage, that they may take 
cognizance of faults in temper or conduct too trivial for the notice 
of treatises or essays, yet so frequent in their recurrence as to form 


IV 


PREFACE. 


the chief moral peculiarities of the individual. Life, as Dr. Johnson 
observes, is not a series of great events and illustrious actions ; it is 
from minute particulars and casual indications of feeling that we 
form our estimate of those around us. Mere moralists too readily 
coincide in opinion with the mistaken poet, that, “ his creed can’t be 
wrong whose life is in the right while we have equal reason to 
deprecate a new reading, which would seem to say, “ His life can’t 
be wrong whose creed is in the right.” It is not the handles of a 
clock which constitute its actual value ; but still, if they do not 
point aright, during every moment of the day, and every day of the 
year, we know that something is amiss within ; and though it may 
continue gravely and solemnly ticking the hours, no one will take 
heed to its admonitions. The superstructure of Christian conduct 
cannot be justly appreciated without exhibiting the inward ma- 
chinery of the mind by which external actions are directed or con- 
trolled, and therefore the authoress has, with reverence, attempted 
to portray those thoughts and principles which render the pleasures, 
the hopes, and the emotions of Christians entirely different from 
others whose apparent circumstances are exactly similar, and with 
whom they may be unavoidably thrown into habits of continual as- 
sociation. 

That fictitious narrative is a proper mode of instruction, is demon- 
strated to every Christian by the highest of all examples. Some ex- 
cellent persons, however, who admit the usefulness of little tracts 
and histories representing, in proper colors, vice, infidelity, and su- 
perstition among the lower orders, inconsistently object to similar 
delineations as respects the higher ; yet the success of such writings 
in the one department seems to encourage the hope of usefulness 
by corresponding exertions in the other. Mrs. Hannah More re- 
marks, in her novel of Ccelebs, “how little justice has been done to 
the clerical character in those popular works of imagination which 
are intended to exhibit a picture of living manners. So many fair 
opportunities have thus been lost of advancing the interests of re- 
ligion, by personifying her amiable graces in the character of her 
ministers.” The authoress feels encouraged to attempt this interest- 
ing task, from a grateful consciousness that she has enjoyed more 
than ordinary occasions for appreciating the enlightened devotion, 
the active benevolence, the disinterested labors, the learning, the con- 
sistency, and the zeal of those who are in heart, as well as by pro- 
fession, the servants of God. At the same time, on no one occasion, 


PREFACE. 


Y 


In any of her past or present pages, has she drawn the portrait of 
an individual, and no circumstances can ever induce her to do so. 
Every reader of a fiction would cast the characters differently ; and 
it is to be hoped that all have known some whom Lady Olivia Ne- 
ville’s imaginary virtues might fairly represent. Three originals for 
this sketch have been confidently named, any of whom do honor to 
the success with which female excellence has been represented, 
though the fancied resemblance in every case is only such as all 
Christians must exhibit to each other. There are many lively 
girls like Eleanor, without her faults, and many gentlemen as pros- 
ing as Sir Colin, to whom, while the authoress has never seen 
them, some resemblance may easily be imagined “ to give the airy 
nothings place and name.” It is requested that every young lady 
will believe she was intended for Matilda, — that every gentleman 
will discover that he is portrayed in Sir Alfred, or Mr. Grant, and 
that each will feel assured, in whatever quarter of the United King- 
dom he resides, that Dr. Murray is certainly intended for the cler- 
gyman of his own parish, — 

“This is a likeness, may all men declare, 

And I have seen him, but I know not where.” 

With respect to the white poodle, Blanco, he is not meant tor 
any poodle in particular, but is a fair representation of drawing-room 
dogs in general, with all their faults and good qualities, seeing that 
they occupy a place of distinction in society now which entitles 
them to prominent notice in any work professing to take cognizance 
of the more important actors in fashionable life. 

Having formerly delineated the progress of education, it is now 
proposed to trace its results on the character, temper, and morals ; 
but each volume may be read, either in connection, or as a separate 
story. The original intention was, not to carry the same narrative 
on, but many readers objected to the want of a regular denouement 
in the previous work, where, according to established etiquette, vir- 
tue ought to be rewarded, and vice brought to condign punishment. 
This is very appropriately termed “ poetical justice,” because we ob- 
serve no such results in actual life. It may be well, however, to 
exhibit the triumph of virtue in scenes of fancy, where the charac- 
ters cease to exist with the closing page ; but it should be remem- 
bered, that while the universal desire for final equity seems to be im- 
planted in the human breast by Him who now promises, and will one 


VI 


PREFACE. 


day execute it, — this world is not the place of retribution. Tempo 
ral happiness is granted irrespectively of merit, and frequently those 
who seem most deserving of success receive the smallest share of 
worldly prosperity from the hands of that Great Benefactor who 
knows its real worthlessness. The favored children of our Merci- 
ful Father are not the most pampered and indulged now ; but that 
in which they differ from others: is the inward feeling with which 
the inevitable afflictions of life are borne. — As we frequently see 
the more precious exotics in a garden first planted and cherished in 
darkness, that they may attain a higher and a nobler growth, so the 
Christian is often reared in the gloom of adversity, and watered with 
tears, while we likewise see that winter’s stormy blast is necessary 
to the stability of the cak. 


MODERN SOCIETY 


CHAPTER I. 


Sorrows like show’rs descend, and as the heart 
For them prepares, they good or ill impart. 

Some on the mind, as on the ocean, rain, 

Fall and disturb, but soon are lost again : 

Some, as to fertile lands, a boon bestow, 

And seeds that else had perish’d live and grow. 

Some fall on barren soil, and thence proceed 
The idle blossom and the noxious weed. 

Crabbe. 

Ii has been mentioned as an ancient Jewish tradition, 
though not recorded in Scripture, that, among other tests 
to which the Queen of Sheba put the wisdom of Solomon 
during her visit at Jerusalem, she held up, at some distance, 
two large groups of flowers, the one real and the other arti- 
ficial, desiring him to discriminate between them. Unable 
at once to do so, and resolved, nevertheless, not to be baffled, 
the monarch instantly commanded a window to be opened, 
at which a multitude of bees flew in, and settled on the nat- 
ural flowers, after which there could no longer be any diffi 
culty in pronouncing a correct judgment. It cannot be 
doubted that the loveliest blossoms of spring may be so imi- 
tated by art that in form and color they shall seem equalled, 
or perhaps excelled, and the eye, transiently glancing at 
both, may be most attracted by greater brilliancy in the 
one, though the freshness and fragrance of nature must, on 
nearer acquaintance, prove their own superiority, and add a 
charm to the creations of an Almighty hand which all the 
ingenuity of man could never confer. Equally similar in 
external appearance were the two heroines of our story, 
Eleanor Fitz-Patrick and Matilda Howard. In all that 
could give grace and beauty to their earliest girlhood they 
were alike ; but, while Eleanor was embellished with every 
outward attraction which art or ingenuity can add to the 


8 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


gifts of nature, she wanted that inward spirit which can be 
only supplied by Almighty power, and which gives life and 
permanence to all that is precious in the heart. Both the 
cousins were fitted to bloom amidst the sunshine of life’s gay 
morning, enlivening every scene on which they entered ; but 
the brightness and beauty of merely human excellence like 
Eleanor’s, must fade amidst the storms of earthly sorrow 
and temptation, while the grace and the sweetness derived, 
like Matilda’s, from an eternal source, may indeed be bowed 
down and blighted for a time, but cannot long remain ob- 
scured, and are never entirely lost, being of that u nature” 
which “ dies and lives again,” and which, whether in sun- 
shine or shadow, is under a wise, unerring cultivation for an 
endless and glorious existence. 

On the death of Lady Olivia Neville, to whom they were 
both alike indebted for that tender affection which had 
constituted the happiness of their childhood, and for that 
judicious kindness which had watched over them in subse- 
quent years, the two cousins mourned over the object of 
their earliest attachment, who had shown them all the en- 
dearing and devoted interest of a mother, and each in her 
separate home wept bitter tears for the days that were past, 
when every thought of their hearts had been dear to her 
who could now hear them no more. Few had ever occa- 
sion to weep for a friend more deservedly beloved ; and so 
essential had her friendship become to both her nieces, that 
it seemed to their young minds scarcely possible that death 
had indeed caused a final separation. That voice, now silent 
in the grave, had been the first to impress on their thoughts 
the fleeting nature of every earthly tie, and taught them 
to reflect, that, as soon might we anticipate day without 
night, or an ocean of perpetual calm, as that this changing 
scene shall continue to smile on us as brightly as it beams 
on the early dawn of existence ; but no reverse had yet 
brought them so acutely to feel that mournful truth, until 
the last solemn event which set its seal to all that they had 
been taught. 

When the melancholy news reached Barnard Castle, 
Eleanor was overpowered with amazement and grief. She 
delivered herself up to a tempest of uncontrollable emotion, 
which soon exhausted itself, and she conjured up the re- 
membrance of everything that could add bitterness to her 
sorrow. Her feelings were on most occasions like the ripple 
of a summer breeze on the surface of a stream, or like breath 


9 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 

on a mirror, which flits rapidly away, leaving it as cold and 
as bright as before. But Eleanor now mourned for a time, 
with almost frantic grief — she admired in herself every ex 
cess of sensibility j and amidst tears and hysterics, she spoke 
as if the very sunshine of her life was set forever, and the 
only remaining comfort that could cheer her would be to live 
all her remaining days as if Lady Olivia Neville were the 
witness of every thought and action. 

Sir Bdchard Eitz-Patrick proposed that they should hasten 
immediately to Edinburgh, as he wished to show the last 
mark of respect and attachment to the memory of one whom 
he, along with every one who had known her, felt desirous 
to consecrate in their most sacred and respectful remem- 
brance ; and to this suggestion the young heiress readily ac- 
ceded, glad to find, any refuge from her own depressing 
thoughts, and from the mournful inactivity of grief. 

To a casual observer, the earliest burst of heart-breaking 
sorrow on the part of Eleanor Fitz-Patrick would have ap- 
peared to call for greater sympathy and more anxious solici- 
tude than the deep, unobtrusive grief of Matilda Howard, 
who wept silently and profoundly, though she fortified her 
mind against the inroads of immoderate affliction by inces- 
sant and fervent prayer, and struggled against the excess of 
that grief which she felt conscious could only end with her 
life. Some minds have a wider grasp of sorrow than others, 
and hers was one which felt intensely and suffered long. 
There are depths in our thoughts and in our feelings, which 
we ourselves can only fathom when trying events lay open 
the inner recesses of our own hearts ; and in this hour of 
anguish and distress, Matilda seemed as if she had never 
known before what it was to think or to suffer : but still she 
could now place all her. happiness implicitly in the hands of 
that Gracious Being whom she supremely loved, in humble 
trust that hereafter His unerring designs would be revealed ; 
and thus she felt that to a Christian, in the utmost sorrows 
of life, one comfort inalienably belongs. 

Amidst the intensity and anguish of her feelings, Matilda 
shrunk from the notice of every one except her parents, to 
whom she revealed without reserve all the passing emotions 
of her heart, and in return she received such consolation 
and sympathy as they could suggest for the time ; though 
long before her grief was alleviated, they each thought 
that it might have been almost entirely subdued ; and Lady 
Howard, whose heart had become, by constant intercourse 


10 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


with the world, as hard as a well-beaten highway, having 
one day surprised her in tears, thought it necessary to re- 
monstrate. 

“ My dear girl,” said she, “ we have all suffered a great 
misfortune, which it would be most unnatural not to de- 
plore ; but if the sorrows of life are felt so very acutely, 
your spirits will be depressed beyond all remedy, at the very' 
commencement of existence. The bodily health may be re- 
stored after severe injury, but the spirits once thoroughly 
broken, can never be revived ; therefore you must really save 
up some cheerfulness to stand the wear and tear of future 
years, and for my sake and your father’s, let me entreat that 
you will exert some fortitude.” 

•• There can be no use in cherishing grief,” observed 
Sir Francis. “I would have willingly cut off my right 
hand to preserve Lady Olivia’s life, and no one can lament 
her more sincerely ; but still it is vain to think of it, 
and we must learn to turn our minds away from inevita- 
ble misfortunes. My receipt for banishing melancholy 
thoughts is, to take a good hard gallop on horseback, or 
to smoke a double portion of cigars — but anything is bet- 
ter than to sit down and make sorrow a welcome companion.” 

Matilda ventured to reply, that she found it a better 
restorative to encourage reflection than to stifle it, but she 
promised that nothing should be wanting on her own part 
to attain peaceful and Christian resignation, while she 
looked forward with ardent hope to the arrival of Eleanor 
Fitz-Patrick, when she might have the additional comfort of 
finding sympathy from one who mourned like herself. Her 
frank and affectionate heart was incapable of reserve with 
those she loved, and in her present hour of sorrow she would 
rather have spoken to a statue than smothered her grief 
within her own breast, — what, then, could exceed the longing 
desire with which she anticipated that moment when, with the 
companion and friend of her childhood, they should mingle 
their tears together, and wear out their sorrow by talking 
of it. 

Before the stunning effect of surprise and grief had been 
sufficiently alleviated on Matilda’s mind to admit of her 
shedding any tears, those of Eleanor had been entirely dried 
up. The long journey from Inverness-shire — the daily 
change of air and scene — the exhilarating effect of rapid 
motion — and the thousand future plans and prospects which 
flitted gaily through the magic-lantern of her fertile imagi 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


n 


nation, prevented the young heiress from dwelling very 
intently on the past, and when she reached her destination, 
she felt but transiently affected by the solemn event which 
had brought her there. 

Matilda flew into the arms of her cousin when they met, 
and burst into a flood of tears. Confident that she was at 
last with one who could enter into the utmost excess of her 
feelings, and who would look back with her on every endear- 
ing remembrance of the past, she now wept unrestrainedly 
in all the intensity of natural emotion. Heedless of all but 
the sacredness of her own sorrow, and forgetful of every- 
thing relating to Eleanor, except the unbounded confidence 
of their once-happy childhood, she felt soothed by the un- 
doubted certainty of their mutual sympathy and affection, 
while she struggled to regain her composure, and to say 
all that the first impulse of her feelings directed. A tear 
glistened in the eye of Miss Fitz-Patrick, at the sight of 
her cousin’s speechless distress, and she returned her em- 
brace with considerable warmth. Their first interview 
might have almost satisfied the feelings of Matilda, for 
it was short and affectionate ; but, when longer and more 
frequent intercourse occurred, she became sensible that a 
degree of restraint and embarrassment was but too obvious 
in the manner of Eleanor, and she could not remain blind 
to the coldness of her expressions, and to her absence of 
mind, which recalled to unavoidable remembrance, that she 
was the brilliantly-endowed heiress of Barnard Castle. 

“ I have become excessively nervous of late, and might 
have been sure that our meeting would be too much for me,” 
said Eleanor one day, assuming a melancholy tone, in answer 
to some of Matilda’s reminiscences. 11 1 wonder that you 
are able to speak of our affliction at all, as, for my own part, 
the most distant allusion to it overpowers me, and I must en- 
treat that, till we have somewhat recovered this dreadful 
event, you will never say anything at all about it to agitate 
me.” 

“ But, Eleanor, we have such consolations, that it seems 
ungrateful not to reflect on the goodness ot Providence in 
sending them, for truly in the midst of judgment He re 
membered mercy ; and our beloved aunt’s death, in peace of 
mind and body, seemed almost like a translation into glory, 
Surely you would like to here the message she left for you, 
dear Eleanor, and all she said that day ; for it was so like 
herself, kind and consoling.” 


12 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“Not now ! — I have told you already that it must be at 
some future time, when I can bear agitation better,” replied 
the young heiress, hastily. “ Miss Marabout very truly re- 
marked, that I am prodigiously altered within the last ten 
days since we have been here, and she earnestly entreats me 
to avoid all emotion ; for she observes, what every one must 
see, that I have only too much sensibility. We should en- 
deavor. Matilda, not to water the road of life with our tears 
more than can be helped, for there is both sunshine and 
shadow to be found there, and my object shall be to linger 
always in the first, and to avoid the other entirely when I 
can ; but you will probably do exactly the reverse.” 

“ No! indeed I shall not,” replied Matilda ; “ it is my de 
sire to receive every event of life precisely as it is intended. 
We have instructions, both how to be merry and how to be 
sad ; so the time may come when I shall be cheerful again, 
but not now , Eleanor, not yet 

“We are very differently circumstanced,” observed the 
heiress, in a tone of importance. “ Many affairs must neces- 
sarily occupy my thoughts during the short time we remain 
in town, which take me off from dwelling incessantly on the 
subject of our regret. You have no conception what a mul- 
titude of things have to be settled before we leave Edinburgh. 
I must bespeak a new pony carriage, as my present one is an 
ugly color, and hung too low ; — then every nursery-garden 
in the neighborhood has to be ransacked for new plants to 
decorate my American garden, which was in a blaze of glory 
this summer. After that, I must select a wagon-load of 
new books to replenish the library, for at present it is all so 
ancient, that one might suppose it to be the ghost of the one 
at Alexandria. You have no idea what ruin is brought upon 
me by all my friends having become authors now ; and I 
find it quite an effort of memory to send for their books, 
and to lay them on the table conspicuously, whenever the 
‘ accomplished writer’ comes to Barnard Castle. I pointed 
out yesterday to papa, as a great natural curiosity, a gentle- 
man who is supposed never to have published ! and he would 
scarcely believe it possible. My most difficult task, however, 
has been to find an Italian confectioner, as our French cook, 
newly imported from Paris, is quite a cordon bleu , and expects 
to have an artiste under him.” 

Matilda felt amazed at the grave look of dignity with which 
all this was uttered ; and she could not but remember a time, 
not long past, when her lively cousin would have been the 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


13 


first to ridicule, and even to burlesque, such an outbreak of 
ostentation from any one else. Her immediate impulse was, 
forgetful of every restraint, to speak with the frank, good- 
humored gayety of former days, and to rally Eleanor on her 
sudden assumption of magnificence ; but an indefinable bar- 
rier was arising between herself and the companion of her 
childhood, which she could scarcely comprehend. That mere 
wealth should cause such a disparity as to forbid the unre 
strained exercise of all their former confidence, was what 
her young and ardent mind had never anticipated. Matilda 
felt herself free and unfettered by obligation — she had no 
object to gain from her cousin, nor would she have hesitated 
to show such deference as was due to Miss Fitz-Patrick’s su- 
periority of station ; but to find herself, as she now did on 
many occasions, unaccountably treated like a humble friend 
— a sort of souffre-douleur , who must study her cousin’s hu- 
mors, and implicitly follow her lead in conversation — filled 
her with surprise, and with a degree of indignation, which 
was foreign to the natural gentleness of her disposition. 
Matilda Howard’s spirit was not proud, but it was independ- 
ent ; and the longer she associated with Eleanor, the more 
difficult she felt it to preserve herself from subservience, and 
at the same time to maintain that Christian meekness which 
was her duty in the sight of God. If Eleanor asked her to 
drive out, or to visit a shop, her tone was that of a superior 
dictating to a protegee ; and every day she seemed more hur- 
ried for time, and more anxious to escape all confidential in- 
tercourse, which Matilda could scarcely regret, as not only 
was Eleanor’s extraordinary vivacity unsuitable to her own 
feelings, but she was hurt on account of Lady Olivia, to see 
how soon and how entirely the sacred remembrance of her 
virtues and affection was extinguished from the memory of 
one who owed so much to both ; and her good taste, as well 
as her partial affection for Eleanor, were irresistibly hurt by 
the vulgar-minded ostentation and glaring selfishness of her 
whole conversation and conduct. 

“ Matilda, why do you never wear rings ?” asked Eleanor 
one day, looking at her beautifully-formed hands, while 
she plied the needle with busy activity. “ I should require 
some additional fingers to wear all mine upon ; and this 
turquoise hoop cost me as much yesterday as would be 
the whole annual income of some young ladies. It appears 
quite undressed Jto be without any ; and really, Matilda, 
with that industrious, painstaking look, you might pas* 


14 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


for a sempstress who does plain work at eighteenpence 
a-day. 

“ It would be necessary for me to turn an honest penny, 
in some way or other, before I become curious in rings and 
bijouterie,” replied Matilda, smiling. “ You know perfectly, 
Eleanor, that I can scarcely keep myself in shoe-strings and 
hair-pins, so if ever I put on a ring, it must be taken down 
from the bed-curtains.” 

“ Very true. Now, I do think that old quiz, Lady Bar- 
nard, treated you shockingly !” replied Eleanor ; “ it is, in 
my opinion, a complete case of swindling, when rich old 
people receive very excessive attentions from any one, and slip 
out of the world leaving them nothing. I protest it oughi 
to be actionable !” 

“ But my dear Eleanor, you quite mistake me” 

“Yes! yes! I know all that you expect me to believe — • 
disinterested kindness, pure charity, and so forth ; but, 
Matilda, I know the world. What pleasure could there 
be to you in reading several hours a-day to that peevish 
old woman, and giving up every sort of engagement to sit 
with her in the evenings ? People may act as they please ; 
but I must think and speak as I please, for the motive 
to exertion is always as plain to me as if it were inscribed 
in legible characters on the face of it, and nothing diverts 
me more than to see how people can deceive themselves and 
others.” 

“ You might as easily suspect right intentions as wrong 
ones, Eleanor, and it would be much the more agreeable 
occupation. I often think of a man mentioned in the 
Spectator, who had a deformed and a handsome leg, so he 
always judged whether people were inclined to take the 
favorable view of others or not, by watching which their eye 
most readily fixed upon ; and we should endeavor to be 
among those who contemplate the presentable leg.” 

“ A propos , Lady Susan Danvers dined with us yester- 
day ; and her large red arms were so covered with glitter- 
ing bracelets, that they reminded me of the raw flesh which 
Sinbad the Sailor threw into the Valley of Diamonds.” 

“ You will allow, then, that it is better to be deficient in 
ornaments than to be overloaded with them. Some of our 
nouveaux riches exhibit so much jewellery now, that they 
look like Queens of the Sandwich Islands, or Roman Catholic 
images from abroad.” 

“ * Do you mean anything personal /’ as one gentleman 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


15 


eaid to another, who was kicking him down stairs,” exclaimed 
Eleanor, laughing. “ That hard hit was evidently levelled 
at my splendid gold ear-rings.” 

“ No, indeed ! you know me better than to suppose it pos- 
sible ; but I had entirely overlooked them, and you used to 
coincide in my antipathy to much carving and gilding in 
our dress and decoration, Eleanor, in which, perhaps, we 
still agree ; but, however that may be. I shall not feel enti- 
tled to animadvert very severely on you, unless your hair is 
curled with bank-notes, or I see you hung in chains of gold 
all day, like the city magistrates.” 

t; Matilda ! I never observe you dressed for dinner with- 
out a smile, for you still wear the same perpetual necklace 
that we had in the school-room. Do you live and sleep 
with it on ?” 

“ I like everything that reminds me of old times, and of 
the friend who gave it,” replied Matilda, fixing her large, 
deep, speaking eyes on Eleanor. “ She never leaves my 
thoughts, and everything connected with her is dear to my 
heart. The very ground she trod on, has an additional 
charm for me ; and I walked all over the garden at Ash- 
grove yesterday, Eleanor, tracing impressions of the stick 
with which she supported herself last time we walked there 
together. I sat in her favorite seat. I recalled how she 
looked, and what she said, and I tried to realize the idea of 
that blessed country where she now is eternally happy. Oh, 
how sweet and how sad our lovely garden looked. It seemed 
as if the rose-trees should not have bloomed so gayly, and 
as if the bright carnations were ungrateful, to be sending 
up their fragrance, when the hand that had reared them 
was no more : and the laughing, joyous sunshine which 
sparkled and glittered on all around, showed no sympathy 
with my own mournful feelings. I remembered that the 
last words of comfort and affection have been spoken from 
those lips which are now closed forever, and I seemed yet 
to watch the last glance of tender interest which gleamed 
upon me from her dying eyes. The truest friend we have 
ever known, Eleanor, employed her latest hour in praying 
for us.” 

Matilda paused a moment in profound emotion. Her 
voice was harmony itself, and it deepened into a tone of 
intense sensibility while she spoke. The rich full notes 
of a flute could not have died away more softly on the 
ear She faltered, and became silent; but after pausing 


16 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


a moment, and watching in vain for a look of answering 
sympathy in the bright cold eye of her cousin, she gently 
endeavored to vary the subject, though she could not at once 
dismiss it. 

“ Aunt Barbara is at Ashgrove still, but so altered, you 
scarcely could have recognized her. I burst into tears 
when we met, more affected by the change on her than even 
by the sorrow that afflicts myself. May her consolation be 
from above, for no earthly friend can afford her any, and 
she says, that in the whole range of future events, there is 
not a single circumstance which could give her one gleam 
of pleasure. That must certainly be wrong, because a true 
Christian cannot know such a word as despair ; but I could 
not leave her for several hours, nor get the remembrance of 
her miserable countenance a moment out of my head since. n 

“ Pshaw, Matilda!” said Eleanor, contemptuously : “ Bar- 
bara’s very sorrows formerly were always absurd and frivo- 
lous. I remember, as a child, seeing her often in tears ; and, 
being then young and tender-hearted, I used to watch her 
with commiseration, summing up, in my own mind, all the 
causes of grief that she probably endured — her solitary ex- 
istence : her brother’s sudden death ; the evident indiffer- 
ence of every one towards herself ; the approach of old age, 
and infirmity ; the scanty pittance she had to subsist upon, 
and the awful consideration of a future state. These were 
all grand, legitimate subjects of agitation ; but whenever I 
wasted any good sympathy upon her, and investigated beyond 
my own imagination into the origin of her distress, it turned 
out to be some petty affront which she had fancied. Mamma x 
had given another person the precedence of her to dinner, or 
I had occupied the chair she usually sat in, or had picked up 
the book she was reading, or papa did not take wine with 
her. In short it never was a real, impressive distress that 
touched her feelings.’! 

“ But we must spare her now, Eleanor, for she is sadly 
humbled. Did you hear that Aunt Barbara has insisted on 
accepting in earnest the offer which papa lately made her 
in jest, of permission to occupy Ptarmigan Cottage, in 
Argyleshire, where she means, with the income recently 
bequeathed, to devote herself to doing good in that neighbor- 
hood ? Mamma and papa did their utmost to detain her 
with ourselves, but her melancholy reply was, with tears in 
her eyes, ‘ Ah ! now that Olivia is no more, who could bear 
with me /’ ” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 1 | 

u Who indeed !” exclaimed Eleanor, superciliously. “ But 
now, do let us call another subject, for I hate people to be, 
like Paganini, always harping on one string, especially if it 
be a melancholy one. Do you know, Matilda, I am going 
to have all the Barnard diamonds newly arranged in the 
form of an enormous butterfly, and the ear-rings are to be 
set transparent. I must be off now, to order some additional 
plate and furniture for the country, so adieu! au revoir ! 
I shall try to call again before we go to Barnard Castle next 
week : but you can have no idea what it is to be torn in 
pieces with engagements as I am. You may think yourself 
a very lucky person, Matilda, to enjoy the privilege of mop- 
ing all day over a fire, without any one asking or caring 
where you are but if I disappear for half an hour, there 
are shoals of visitors crowding into the drawing-room, or else 
the butler, and housekeeper, and all my people waiting, as 
if they had no business on earth but to torment me. I shall 
probably find a whole host of company at home — notes wait- 
ing to be answered — and shopkeepers with things upon 
sight : so you should be properly grateful for my bestowing 
so much precious time upon you already. Come and see me 
sometimes. I am always glad to have you with me Matilda. 
when I have nothing else to do /” 

a Eleanor ! I sometimes scarcely know whether to laugh 
or to cry, you are so ridiculous !” said her cousin, coloring, 
and endeavoring to smile. “ Let me now exercise, probably 
for the last time, my old privilege of being allowed to speak 
out my whole mind. There is a change in you, Eleanor, 
which cannot but be obvious to us both; and if a short time 
has. already produced so great an alteration in the tone you 
assume towards me, I cannot but anticipate the hour when 
there may be that in your manner which I should feel 
scarcely entitled to overlook. Our affection was such as I 
believed neither time nor circumstances could alter ; and I 
thought you had known the worth of that which no wealth 
can ever purchase ; but we have gradually became estranged 
from each other’s confidence, I scarcely know how or why ! 
I almost feel as if it would be less painful not to see you at 
all, than to see you so changed. I may be hasty, — wrong, — 
imprudent to say this ; but if we do not come to a right un- 
derstanding at first, I shall never know when to speak. The 
evil increases every time we meet, while my courage to notice 
it will diminish ; for our former equality in affection is al- 
ready almost obsolete and forgotten. Dear Eleanor ! my 


18 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


spirits are already weighed down by the sense of our irrepar- 
able misfortune ; do not add to it the grief and mortification 
of mourning for your loss as well as hers, and in a way so 
very comfortless and unexpected. You know how often we 
were taught to nray that our hearts might be preserved from 
inordinate anxiety about earthly happiness ; but if anything 
could infallibly subdue and chasten my worldly affections, it 
would be the deep disappointment that your alienation 
would occasion to me. Let us continue, then, as we once 
were, dearest Eleanor ; let us remember the time when we 
were friends before either of us knew what worldly honors 
meant ; and oh 1 let us remain so until all earthly distinc- 
tions are at an end” 

u Certainly !” replied Eleanor, hastily tying on her bonnet, 
and gathering her splendid cashmere into graceful folds 
round her sylph-like figure. 11 You know very well, Matilda, 
that I prefer you to any one else, and it would be very wrong 
and ungrateful to do otherwise ; but pray make due allow- 
ances, considering that I have no leisure either to look back 
upon former times, or forward to the future, there is such a 
; perfect scramble for my immediate attention among country 
neighbors, victims, would-be lovers, and Scotch cousins to 
the remotest generation.” 

“ Y es, Eleanor ! you really are the 1 hare with many 
friends,’ and I must not be captious about trifles. Excuse 
me, then, if I have been hasty aud unreasonable. Your re- 
gard is necessarily scattered among the many claimants who 
court it, while mine may be reserved for the few who will 
seek and value it. I shall try, therefore, to think you un- 
changed ; and, happen what will, it shall be noticed no more ; 
for, perhaps, in the solitude of my heart where an aching 
void must long remain, I may have looked with too keen 
an eye on the only friend to whom my whole feelings could 
have been unreservedly opened. The fewer friends we 
cultivate, the more precious they must become : and in our 
case, Eleanor, I might apply that beautiful Persian uroD' ^fy 
1 The moon looks on many flowers, the flowers see b«± 
moon.’ ” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


19 


CHAPTER II. 


I fondly thought 

In thee I ’d found the friend my heart had sought ; 

I fondly thought, ere Time’s last days were gone, 

Thy heart and mine had mingled into one ! 

Kirkk White. 


About ten days after the preceding conversation, Sir 
Francis Howard had concluded a long philippic against 
luncheons, in the way in which gentlemen usually end them, 
by sociably drawing his chair towards the table, and becom- 
ing the greatest beefeater of the party himself, when Sir 
Richard Fitz-Patrick entered, accompanied by Eleanor and 
Miss Marabout, who were now inseparable companions, for 
the young heiress would have felt as great a privation with- 
out her ci-devant governess as the unfortunate man did who 
in a rash moment parted with his shadow. 

“ Howard ! when are you coming to beat up our quarters 
in the North ?” asked Sir Richard, while scientifically em- 
ployed in selecting the trouffles from a pate Perigonl. “ You 
shall be up to the chin in turtle and venison every day at 
our chateau.” 

“ Captain Ross has promised me a passage next time he 
goes your way, and Captain Back is to pick me up, if he ever 
returns.” 

“ But seriously, my good friend, we have admirable sport, 
if that will be any inducement — you may shoot partridges at 
the door, and catch salmon out of the window, besides having 
a shot at the red deer, which abound in our forests. I saw a 
prodigious herd the day before we left Barnard Castle, and 
my neighbor Alderby persevered in stalking one for fifteen 
miles. The sport is so unrivalled in its way, that when once 
a man is thoroughly initiated in deer-stalking he never en- 
joys anything else.” 

Then never attempt to ‘initiate’ me, for depend upon it, 
that all my happiness in life would be ended if ever T became 
disgusted with hunting. Let me be put in my coffin as soon 
as the huntsman’s bugle loses its attraction.” 


20 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ Bring two or three of your hunters, then, next month, 
for we are going to try the experiment of starting a pack 
in my neighborhood. Be Mainbury is to hunt our country 
for the first time this year, and we "expect capital sport.” 

u Bather a hilly country to ride across,” cried Sir Francis. 
“I shall certainly have a steeple chase over Ben Nevis.” 

“ We are plentifully peopled with foxes,” continued Sir 
Richard eagerly ; “ the only danger is, that three at least 
will be starting in different directions, and we have only one 
pack of hounds ; but a most numerous field is likely to turn 
out. Colonel Pendarvis, Major Foley, Aldcrby, Fletcher, 
u numbered Mackenzies, and countless Grants. A propos , 
Tom Grant has returned from picture-gazing abroad, and 
writes me that his present intention is to aid and abet 
Sir Alfred Douglas in canvassing our neighboring boroughs, 
with which laudable intention they are to set out some weeks 
hence for that strange, old, ivy-covered castle of the young 
candidate’s, which looks almost as grand and frowning as him- 
self — but my reply to their announcement of to-day was, that 
unless they both make Barnard Castle their headquarters I 
shall vote on the other side. They must positively use a 
little bribery and undue influence with me, and my stipula- 
tions were peremptory.” 

At this moment, Eleanor inadvertently upset a basin of 
sugar, and Matilda started forward to assist her ; while Sn 
Francis laughingly observed, that it was the first time he hai 
ever seen her commit an actual gauche rie ; but he hopea 
that, as it was considered unlucky to throw down salt, it 
must be the very reverse to overturn sugar. “ But, my 
poor Matilda ! what a fright you must have got, for I have 
not seen such a brilliant carnation exhibited on your cheek 
for months. It is lucky that none of my hunters are so 
easily startled, for you shy at everything of late ; and real- 
ly, Maria, we ought to do something for that poor girl, she is 
becoming thinner every day, and quite out of condition now ; 
we must have change of scene, for she is positively vanishing 
into thin air altogether, and I would lame my best hunter 
to set her on her legs again. Perhaps a trip to Leamington 
might be of some use, as no one can be in health now with- 
out consulting the magician there ; and it would suit me 
quite as well to hunt for a season with the Warwickshire 
hounds.” 

Pshaw ! nonsense ! — Let Matilda go with us to Barnard 
Castle,” exclaimed Sir Richard, earnestly. u Eleanor is 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


21 


flapping her wings to take flight thither next Monday, and 
will be enchanted to have her of the party.” 

There was no suitable look of enchantment at these 
words, however, in the heiress’s countenance, who seemed 
intent upon her occupation of paring an apple, which, to 
judge from her expression, might have been the apple of 
discord. 

“ What do you say, Matilda ?” continued the hospitable 
baronet, who never read looks, and always supposed his 
daughter’s mind to be a duodecimo edition of his own. “We 
have a spare corner in the britschska, for I shall ride all the 
way, so Eleanor and Miss Marabout only want you to com- 
plete their agreeable trio. You might s'ing catches and 
glees along the road, eh 1 Matilda — 1 All’s well’ — or, 1 When 
shall we three meet again,’ eh ?” 

There was both thunder and lightning in Eleanor’s glance 
at this unexpected proposition of her father’s ; but she 
hummed broken snatches of the last new opera, and tried to 
seem unconscious of what was passing, until an opportunity 
occurred, when, having caught his eye, she attempted to 
stop the current of his eloquence with one of those family 
frowns which are like freemasons’ signals, perceptible only 
to the initiated. 

“ I know your drift, Eleanor,” continued Sir Richard, 
who was never very easily dismounted from his hobby ; 

“ but I am not reckoning without my hostess. The seat in 
our carriage is really vacant, for Charlotte Clifford has ac- 
cepted the Chiltern Hundreds, and cannot leave home till 
nearer Christmas, when she is to follow, instead of accom- 
panying us. I thought you had known this already. But 
now, Matilda, can you have all the necessaries of life ready 
by Monday morning, or must we linger till Tuesday ? You 
are well worth waiting for, and if I think so, what must 
Eleanor feel ?” 

“ I thank you a thousand times,” replied Matilda, coloring 
deeply ; “ you are very kind, but” 

“ I never like a sentence ending with a ‘ butf and beginning 
with a multitude of thanks — it always betokens evil,” in- 
terrupted Sir Richard, hastily ; “ but you shall not get off 
very easily, for I mean to be as pertinacious as the Scotch- 
man who told Mr. Pitt that he considered every refusal a 
step ; so tell me now, what little whimsical reason are you 
going to give for disappointing us ? This is the only com 
pensation we can make to Eleanor for being jilted by Char- _ 


22 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


lotte Clifford ; and, indeed, now that I think of it, you ought 
certainly to have had the precedence of her ; and I wonder 
it was not all arranged sooner, for there is nothing I enjoy 
so much as to have a circle of cheerful, merry young faces 
round me.” 

At the mention of cheerfulness, Eleanor stole. one of her 
own peculiar glances at Miss Marabout, satirically directing 
her attention towards the downcast expression of Matilda’s 
countenance, who was painfully embarrassed, because, little 
as she wished to accept the unexpected offer of this ex- 
cursion, and nothing could be farther from her intention, 
yet she felt wounded and surprised at the marked coldness 
of Eleanor’s manner, who had not said, nor looked, the most 
transient expression of common civility on the occasion. 
The preference given to Miss Clifford had also astonished 
and mortified her. Matilda never imagined that with the 
confident tone of superiority constantly assumed by Eleanor 
in their intercourse, there was mingled a rankling feeling 
uf jealousy towards herself, and yet nothing had been more 
carefully instilled into the mind of her pupil by Miss Mara- 
bout than a spirit of angry and contemptuous competition 
against Miss Howard. It was, indeed, surprising how 
much Eleanor had succeeded in blinding herself to her 
cousin’s beauty and good qualities. She had fully persuaded 
herself that neither could be discernible in her own presence 
— that Matilda’s eyes, so u deeply, darkly, beautifully blue,” 
were not comparable to the lustre of hazel, — and that the 
more subdued vivacity of Matilda’s conversation could never 
be preferred to the sparkling brilliancy of her own. Never- 
theless, she had on a few occasions found herself unaccount- 
ably eclipsed, and without being led by that circumstance 
into any diffidence of herself, it merely produced a determi- 
nation to keep her cousin as much as possible in the back- 
ground, as she would rather have seen any one on earth 
promoted to an equality with herself than the companion 
of her childhood; for it had been one chief pleasure of her 
own advancement, to see how far she had left Matilda be- 
hind. 

Meantime, Sir Richard was far on in his negotiation, 
without any doubt of bringing it to an equitable adjustment, 
telling Lady Howard that he would keep Matilda as a host- 
age for Sir Francis coming at Christmas ; and that Eleanor 
would show her cousin all the projected improvements at 
Barnard Castle, and introduce her to a numerous flock of 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


23 


beaux who were soon to emigrate northwards. Nothing 
could well exceed the surprise of the whole assembled party, 
only excepting the hospitable baronet himself, when Lady 
Howard at length rejnarked, that she saw only one objection 
to the invitation. 

You know, Sir Richard,” she said, looking at Eleanor, 
u no motion can be carried until it is seconded .” 

“ Indeed, Aunt Howard,” said Eleanor, seeing that she 
must speak, “ papa leaves nothing to be said when once he 
begins making speeches for any one, and especially for me. 
I feel like the strolling player who forgot his part, and 
another advanced as his substitute saying, ‘ This gentleman’s 
name is Norval! on the Grampian hills his father feeds his 
flocks,’ &c., &c. I shall, of course, be, as papa says, 1 en- 
chanted 1 to take Matilda north, and 1 delighted ’ to act as show- 
woman of the lions at Barnard Castle ; but she will find it 
odiously dull, with only Miss Marabout and me for two 
months. I quite dread the thing myself, though, if my 
cousin will endeavor to endure it, we must do our best to 
render ourselves tolerable.” 

Matilda’s refusals now became more earnest and decided 
than ever ; but all her ostensible objections were good- 
humoredly combated by her uncle. The skirmish continued 
for some time with great spirit on both sides ; but her de- 
fensive operations were suddenly and finally defeated by 
Lady Howard, who interposed again, with a peremptory ac- 
ceptance of the “ very considerate and kind invitation which 
Sir Richard and Eleanor had been good enough to volun- 
teer so opportunely.” 

“ Pray feel no scruple about leaving me,” continued she, 
determined not to see her daughter’s beseeching looks. “ I 
know you are scrupulous about that, and it makes me only 
the more desirous to indulge you, my dear Matilda. It will 
be of the greatest benefit to your health, and we little thought 
you would so soon enjoy an opportunity of lionizing Barnard 
Castle.” 

“ No more did I !” exclaimed Eleanor, pertly ; “ Matilda 
may say, when she arrives there, like the Pope at Paris, ‘of all 
the wonders in this place the greatest is to see me here.’ But 
papa, you do everything now in such a hurried extempore 
way, that one never knows what to anticipate.” 

” Ah !” said Lady Howard, delighted to teaze and draw 
out her neice, “ that is so pleasant : for when a surprise is 
agreeable, the more unexpected the better.” 


24 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“Yes,” replied the heiress dryly, “when it is agreeable !* 

“ How very kind, Eleanor ! I was sure you would be over- 
joyed to have Matilda; and she seems quite as 'pleased about 
the arrangement as you are” said Lady Howard, stealing a 
satirical look at the heightened color and distressed counte- 
nance of her daughter ; “ what you say about the want of 
company will be an additional inducement to your cousin, 
who is only too fond of being alone, and would prefer your 
quiet fireside to all the 4 dignity dinners’ and county balls 
you could offer her. She will explore the beauties of Inver- 
ness-shire with untiring delight, and copy all its 4 birks and 
braes’ into her sketch-book.” 

44 Yes; if it had been summer!” cried Eleanor, eagerly. 
44 1 am sure Matilda would like the place best in June or 
July.” 

44 What a good kind creature you are, Eleanor ! — If you 
make such a point of her returning there in summer, we 
may perhaps consider of it then ; but I could not think of 
allowing Matilda to remain much beyond Christmas now, 
though we are equally obliged by your importunity on the 
subject. Sir Richard, my niece has quite inherited your 
hospitality of disposition.” 

44 But virtues in excess amount at last to vices,” added 
the young heiress, peevishly. 44 Papa knows how I always 
teaze him about his pressing five gentlemen to stay all night 
with us, in Cumberland, knowing as he did, that we had only 
one spare bed in the house — and when Sir Colin Fletcher 
called last week, the butler said papa was not at home, but 
had left orders to inquire if he could dine with him that day. 
The poor baronet thought we had picked up in the High- 
lands a little second-sight, to know for certain that he would 
come ; but it turned out that Martin had a general order to 
invite every gentleman who called to make up a party. But, 
papa, may I tell the story about your asking Lady Mon- 
tague’s ci-devant butler to dinner 1 My father knew his 
face perfectly, but forgot everything else, and supposing 
him some old friend whom he had known long ago, he asked 
him to fill up a spare corner at our dinner-party, and take 
his mutton with us at six. The poor man nearly died on 
the spot with astonishment, and said, according to the usual 
phrase, that he would be most happy to wait upon us, 
which he certainly did, in one sense, for it was with a nap- 
kin in his hand, behind my chair. We shall soon be quite 
a revival of 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


25 


‘ The worshipful old gentleman who had a great estate, 

And kept a brave old house at a hospitable rate.’ ” 

Matilda made one more vigorous attempt to evade her 
impending fate ; but, though she ran some risk of irritating 
and mortifying Sir Richard by the pertinacity of her re- 
fusal and her eagerness to escape his invitation, it was all 
in vain, for she was allowed to have no more influence on 
her own destiny than a trout on a fishing-hook ; and Lady 
Howard, having settled all the preliminaries to her own en- 
tire satisfaction, took a cordial leave of her visitors, and then 
throwing herself on the sofa, she indulged in a hearty fit of 
laughing. 

“ My dearest mother, let me hope you have been in jest 
all along, and that I am not really going to be banished from 
you said Matilda, anxiously. u Pray relieve me by say- 
ing so.” 

“ On the contrary, I never was half so serious about any- 
thing in my life,” replied Lady Howard, decidedly ; “ and 
let me request that not another word may be said on the 
subject. I have a particular reason for wishing that you 
should spend this Christmas at Barnard Castle, and it is 
from the very same cause, in all probability, that Eleanor 
would avoid it ; but 1 can always manage good worthy Sir 
Richard, who is all liberality and kindness, without the 
sou'p'fon of a manoeuvre. How I enjoy teazing Eleanor now 
and then! But, Matilda, I do pity you certainly, for you 
feel all her absurdities too acutely ; and why do you, who 
are ten times cleverer than Eleanor, not give her a hit now 
and then, to show what you can do?” 

“ Impossible in her own house. If I am to gof observed 
Matilda, dejectedly, u I shall even lose the comfort of inde- 
pendence there.” 

« Matilda !” said Lady Howard, with a certain slowness of 
speech and compression of the upper lip which was meant to 
be unanswerable ; “ when did you ever gain a point with me 
by importunity — c’est une affaire finie ! You ought to be seen 
in the world now, and there cannot be a better opportunity 
than this to c come out.’ 

‘ Where none admire, ’tis useless to excel, 

Where none are beaux, ’tis vain to be a belle.’ 

You will see a number of eligibles at Barnard Castle ] and 
considering, as I do, that marriage is a woman’s profession, 
it is as much my duty to place you in the way of advancement 
2 


26 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


in that line, as it is incumbent on me to send your brother 
Frank to India, or Tom to Sierre Leone, if that be likely to 
facilitate their promotion ; therefore, I lay a positive command 
upon you to remain in the Highlands until it is my pleasure 
to come there myself.” 

Matilda was stunned and silenced by this unexpected ad- 
dress ; but, finding that she had done all in her power to 
avert the long penance forced upon her, she felt that it was 
now her duty to bear with submission what could not be 
avoided ; and in her well-exercised mind there was no room 
for a repining thought. Much that was painful to nature 
she anticipated during her intercourse with Eleanor, but 
nothing that she could not endure with cheerfulness, if it 
became really inevitable : for, however trying to a sensitive 
mind are the slights or the caprices of altered friends, and 
few things can be more painful, yet she knew that they might 
be necessary to check the excess of that affection and confi- 
dence with which she would have given her whole heart to 
her cousin, and expected an unbounded and unchangeable 
return. Matilda had often heard it remarked that our hopes 
of happiness rest successively on worldly objects, like a bird 
on the branches of a tree. If he be driven from perch to 
perch, he wings his way at last towards Heaven ; and thus, 
while mourning the earliest changes which had afflicted her 
own heart, she felt that if the cords were cut which bound 
her most strongly on earth, her hopes and desires might per- 
haps thus be elevated to a better world. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


2? 


CHAPTER III. 


“Ou allons nous, Madame? 
Nous ennuyer A la campagne ” 


There is a luxury in being waited for, which seems uni- 
versally understood by great people, though to the subordi- 
nate actors in life it is a pleasure quite incomprehensible and 
unknown. On the morning of their setting out for Inver- 
ness-shire Eleanor Fitz-Patrick detained her cousin in mo- 
mentary expectation of her arrival fully as long as person- 
ages enjoying a certain degree of self-importance think it 
usually necessary for those who are considered their infe- 
riors ; but at length the open britschska with four horses 
swept up to the door about half-past one, to claim the very 
unwilling and unwelcome inside passenger who had been 
booked for the journey. 

“ These are good travelling hours, Eleanor !” observed Sir 
Francis, handing Matilda into the carriage, and bidding her 
an affectionate farewell. 

“Yes!” replied the heiress ; “ papa is already a stage in 
advance, but I am no admirer of sunrise, when, as some poet 
beautifully observes — 

‘ Like a lobster boil’d, the morn 
From black to red begins to turn.’ 

The only advantage of travelling in my own carriage is, to 
choose the hours that suit me best.” 

“ True — it is only irrational animals that keep what are 
vulgarly called rational hours. A young lady of fashion 
must be distinguished from the common herd who travel in 
coaches and steamboats, which all start before the peep of 
day” 

“ Yes,” replied Eleanor, glancing with visible alarm at 
Matilda’s baggage, “ and in another respect I differ from 
those public conveyances, in a total incapacity to accommo 
date many packages besides my own, for the carriage will 


28 


MODERN SOCIETY. 


certainly burst, if we add much more to the load it already 
carries.” 

l - Shall I order a post-chaise to follow with Matilda’s dress- 
ing-box ?” asked Sir Francis dryly. u You fill up more room 
in the world now. Eleanor, than in the days when I took Ma- 
tilda and you, three in a gig, to x\rgyle-shire ; and your bag- 
gage might then have been tied up, like Mr. Dowlas’s, in a 
pocket-handkerchief.” 

The young heiress made no reply. She always felt a mix- 
ture of fear and respect for Sir Francis Howard, whose ral- 
lying manner and ready humor had acquired a sort of influ- 
ence over her which no one else could have possibly preserved. 
His quick sense of the ridiculous, and unrivalled turn for 
mimicry, often enabled him to show her up in a way that 
made Eleanor conscious how absurdly she had acted or 
spoken ; and frequently, when she could have braved Lady 
Olivia’s affectionate remonstrances, the keen shaft of Sir 
Francis’ eye, and the cutting sharpness of his ready wit, 
kept her in awe ; and yet she liked him as well as her blunted 
feelings could enable her to like any one, and enjoyed a fre- 
quent war of wit with him, in which species of mental gladi- 
atorship it was difficult to say whose weapons were the 
brightest, or which came off victorious. 

;; Have you heard that Barbara set out this morning for 
Argyleshire ?” inquired Sir Francis. “ Poor soul ! she is 
sadly altered. I declare it is melancholy to see how amiable 
she has become now ! I have lent her Ptarmigan Cottage 
during pleasure, and we hope she will soon become quite her- 
self again /” 

“ I hope not, for anybody else would be better ,” replied 
Eleanor, laughing ; “ you should change the name to Terma- 
gant Cottage, till she abdicates it.” 

“ I shall postpone that alteration till you are settled 
there,” answered Sir Francis gravely. £; You are as pungent 
as a vinaigrette this morning, Eleanor !” 

1,1 There is nothing more dangerous than a bad example.” 

“ Well, adieu! You are longing to be off, I suppose, and 
to reach the rural plains of Inverness-shire. 1 Oh ! for a 
lodge in some vast wilderness — some boundless contiguity of 
shade ! ’ Eh, Eleanor ? Long life to you, then ! and take 
care of my precious Matilda. I grudge you every hour of 
her society that we lose, for she is the very light of my eyes 
now. But, my dear girl, write constantly ; keep a pen behind 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


29 


your ear, and as long as you are absent I trust we shall hear 
that Time has had his wings 1 parfumees de bonheur ” 

When the carriage stopped in Maitland-street for Miss 
Marabout. Eleanor turned to her cousin, saying — “ By the 
way, Matilda, have you any objection to sit backwards ? it 
would be such a charity ! for Miss Marabout is subject to 
headaches, and it kills me outright, the seat is so narrow, 
and the back so perpendicular. I have less scruple in 
venturing this proposal, because you are such a good creat- 
ure ; and we young ladies are seldom promoted to any other 
side.” 

“No more are governesses in general; but I shall wil- 
lingly give up this place, in memory of old times, when nei- 
ther you nor I, Eleanor, could dare hardly to sit down in 
her presence at all,” replied Matilda, with her wonted viva- 
city of look and manner, for she could not help feeling di- 
verted at Eleanor’s extreme absurdity. 

The heiress gave her cousin a good-humored, but a rather 
patronising nod when she vacated her seat ; and for some 
time after the carriage had driven on, Matilda was occupied 
in realizing to her own mind that the proud, consequential- 
looking personage opposite, wrapped up in ermine fur and 
Chantilly lace, with a grave, dignified aspect, and a pompous, 
commanding voice, could actually be the lively, frolicsome 
companion of her own juvenile days, with whom she had once 
lived in the free interchange of every thought, and in the 
happy confidence of unbounded, and, as she then believed, 
unalterable affection. “ Cease ye from man,” thought Ma- 
tilda ; u alas ! how early am I taught the frailty of human 
friendship ! By the changeableness of one, and by the death 
of another, I have equally lost the two who were dearest to 
me on earth. Oh ! may the sorrow of this hour only serve 
to confirm the more gratefully my dependence on that eter- 
nal Friend who will never either disappoint or forsake me !” 

Meantime Eleanor and Miss Marabout had thrown them- 
selves gracefully back into opposite corners of the britschska, 
almost buried alive in cloaks and cushions, while they be- 
came deeply engaged in an animated discussion of all that 
everybody had said or done for the last few months, during 
which nothing could exceed the skill and perseverance with 
which Miss Marabout flattered her ci-devant pupil, unless it 
were the readiness with which her douceurs were accepted ; 
for frequent practice had taught her to suit the bait to those 
she wished to catch, and Eleanor was becoming every day less 


30 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


fastidious in respect to the quantity or the quality of adu- 
lation which she could believe to be sincere as it was well- 
merited. 

“ That was so like you !” Miss Marabout was in the act of 
saying, when Matilda first aroused her attention. “ As soon 
as I hear of anything generous or amiable, it instantly re- 
minds me of Miss Fitz-Patrick, for we so rarely see the heart 
expand in proportion to the fortune ; but yours were formed 
to suit each other. 

‘ Large was her bounty, and — and — and — ’ ” 

Miss Marabout was apt to run aground in her quotations, 
to which Eleanor had long been accustomed, so she did not 
supply the cue, but continued the train of her own thoughts 
and plans. 11 1 always wished, as you know, to transplant 
the Muckleraith family from Ashgrove, but Lady Olivia 
entertained some odd notions on the subject. The old man 
is dead now, so I have taken that rustic beauty, Nanny, 
whom we have so long raved about, into my service, and she 
looks like a perfect fairy. The plain elder sister may blush 
unseen, and remain with her mother, who will be a pictu- 
resque-looking old woman for attending to my fancy dairy 
and poultry-yard.” 

“ How very kind and judicious !” exclaimed Miss Mara- 
bout ; ‘‘ but I always foretold that you would be a model for 
the rich as well as a friend to the poor, and few people com- 
bine so much power and inclination to be both.” 

“ That silly girl Nanny imagined herself attached or en- 
gaged to the under-gardener, William Grey, though I hope 
she will learn better taste in my service than to fancy such 
a clownish-looking youth ; but, with my usual good-nature, I 
have engaged him to work for me in the Highlands — and my 
greatest achievement of all remains to be told. Poor old 
Millar is already at Barnard Castle. She can make herself 
of no earthly use ; but in every large country-house there 
must inevitably be an old nurse, or superannuated house- 
keeper, who is a pet in the establishment, with nothing to do 
but drink oceans of tea and grumble at the other servants 
So I have taken Millar as a necessary grievance, and shall 
let her be at grass while she lives. 

Matilda felt surprised at the contemptuous tone in which 
Lady Olivia’s faithful, attached servant was noticed, and 
*he was hurt that none of these interesting communications 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


31 


were addressed to herself ; but anxious not to be u overcome 
of evil,” she listened with animated attention, and tried to 
appear as if the oversight was entirely unnoticed, by joining 
in the conversation with a degree of cheerfulness suited t« 
the tone of her companions, though they were so agreeably 
occupied with each other that neither seemed conscious 
of the remarks which Matilda occasionally intruded upon 
them. 

u With respect to your old victim, Sir Alfred Douglas,” 
continued Miss Marabout, complaisantly, I have it from 
undoubted authority that he admired no young lady abroad.” 

11 Of course not, for you know he had seen me” replied 
Eleanor. 

“ Ah, very true ! He is said to have become handsomer 
and more repulsive than ever, if that be possible ; for Lady 
Montague says that all Florence was in an uproar about 
him, and the most diverting anecdotes were in circulation 
of the hauteur and indifference with which he kept every 
body at a distance last winter ; but the more he tried to 
repress people’s attentions, the more they were obtruded upon 
him.” 

“ Of course ! that is the way always ! — whenever you wish 
to get on in society, begin by cutting three or four perfectly 
respectable people.” 

u Lady Montague mentioned a curious circumstance about 
Sir Alfred,” continued Miss Marabout, evidently wishing and 
expecting to be asked for the sequel ; u but she told it me un- 
der seal of the strictest secrecy.” 

” Oh ! delightful !” exclaimed Eleanor eagerly ; “it gives 
such zest to a story when people have promised not to tell 
it. Now go on !” 

* But ” said Miss Marabout, with a hesitating look 

at Miss Howard. 

“ Nonsense !” cried Eleanor, impatiently, “ you know very 
well that if Matilda had been Blue Beard’s wife, she might 
have been alive yet, for any danger of her prying into se- 
crets or repeating them. So now for your story.” 

“ It was very much whispered that, a few days before 
Lady Amelia’s death, she sent for her son, and extracted a 
promise from him that he would neither marry nor engage 
himself, for a certain length of time which she specified ; and 
it appears, from what Lady Montague can learn, that his 
mother had some very eligible match in view, but that ho 
prefers another, whom she does not think desirable. I can 


82 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


not understand the business, having always been certain that 
he was devoted to you, and Lady Amelia would have felt 
too thankful for the slightest prospect of making that out, 
which would have rendered her son the most envied man in 
existence.” 

“ I hate ‘ dying requests,’ because they are sure to be al- 
ways something so disagreeable or inconvenient that no 
living person could expect them to be granted! We must 
have an act of Parliament to annul all such extorted prom- 
ises !” exclaimed Eleanor, indignantly. “ I can now explain 
the whole enigma of Sir Alfred’s conduct, for there need 
surely be no doubt that he was an admirer, in his dry, dis- 
tant, odd way ; but some ‘ good-natured friend’ has certainly 
shown Lady Amelia the caricature I drew of her, as a bear- 
leader, taking about the young Baronet with a rein round 
his neck. The sketch was thought so inimitable that it cir- 
culated more than was prudent, and very probably fejrl into 
Lady Amelia’s hand, who would certainly be angry, because 
her own portrait was dreadfully like; so it becomes evideut 
that she wishes to prevent his proposing to me in a spirit of 
very laudable vengeance. As long as there are old people 
in the world, the course of true love never will run smooth.” 

u But your conjecture can scarcely be correct,” interposed 
Matilda, trying to speak with the same indifference as if she 
had been dissenting from Eleanor’s verdict on the weather, 
or setting her right about the day of the month, though a 
rebellious blush rose on her cheek and dyed it with crimson. 
u You must have mistaken Lady Amelia’s opinions, because 
I heard her admiring you in terms that would satisfy even 
Miss Marabout. Ifou used to say that she puffed off her fa- 
vorites as if they were quack medicines, and that Lady Ame- 
lia should be poet-laureate to the japan blacking : so on this 
occasion your opinion would have been quite confirmed, for 
she was all in superlatives.” 

“ Then what took Sir Alfred abroad, unless she had doubts 
of his being accepted, which would be quite reasonable and 
proper, for I am not at all sure upon that score myself ; but 
one would, at any rate, like to be asked, if it were only for 
the good it would do Sir Alfred to be surprised with a refu- 
sal. I shall set about it as soon as he comes to lionize Bar- 
nard Castle at Christmas, when he will of course renew his 
attentions.” 

u Attentions !” exclaimed Matilda in undisguised astonish- 
ment u I thought, Eleanor, you complained that he nevei 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


33 


spoke to you ! I have heard you call him Harpocrates, the 
walking gentleman, and twenty other names, to indicate his 
perpetual silence.” 

“ Yes — but every man in the world has a different way of 
being in love, and Sir Alfred’s is not loquacious. True love 
seldom is talkative ; and gentlemen often speak least to those 
they think most about. For instance, Sir Alfred addressed 
more of his conversation to you than to me — but the manner 
is everything on these occasions, and I would have been quite 
mortified if he had seemed as much at ease with me as he 
was with you. Charlotte Clifford carried on a flirtation all 
last winter with a gentleman who never even ventured on 
being introduced to her. She remarked him frequently 
watching her when she danced — he always contrived to be 
opposite to her at dinner parties, and very constantly passed 
by her windows in the forenoon:” 

“You cannot be serious, Eleanor! for I never heard a 
case worse argued in my life ! As long as the gentleman 
looked in health he was probably thriving on hope, and if he 
had died it would have been of despair.” 

“ Poor Charlotte certainly has a slight hallucination of 
intellect upon that subject, for she is so continually expect- 
ing to be fallen in love with,” replied Eleanor, laughing. 
“ She is, as your mother used to say , 1 a silly flirt, who is good 
for nothing but to be married.’ I have always observed that 
it makes a girl intolerably conceited to be, as she is, the 
best looking of three plain sisters, for parmi les aveugles un 
borgne est roi, and if there is but one eye in a family there 
must be always a beauty among them. Do you believo, 
Miss Marabout that Charlotte has really refused Sir Colin 
Fletcher ?” 

“ It is difficult to say ; but no man could be worse spared 
in society than poor Sir Colin, for he has such a philandering 
way that every young lady of his acquaintance gives out an- 
nually she has refused him ; and I make a principle of believ- 
ing them all.” 

“ Charlotte Clifford is never acquainted with any young 
lady for an hour without asking to be her confidante , and 
on these confidential occasions there must be something to 
tell ; but she has scarcely her equal in the world for getting 
up a romantic story impromptu. She gave me a splendid 
edition of Sir Colin’s disappointment, and then asked me to 
return a Poland for an Oliver by serving up poor Lord 
Alderbv ” 


34 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


44 Those who confess a petty theft to their friends expect 
to be told of a murder in return said Miss Marabout, com- 
plaisantly ; 44 and you have already a multitude to answer 
for. I understand that we are to have a visit from 4 that di- 
verting vagabond, Mr. G-rant,’ as Lady Susan Danvers calls 
him.” 

44 Yes,” replied Eleanor, slightly coloring, 44 we could not 
be off asking him, because he acts as Sir Alfred’s second in 
canvassing the neighboring county, and they are quite insep- 
arable. Mr. Grant’s little property 4 marches' with mine, 
though we do not march long together, as his whole estate is 
scarcely so extensive as one of my largest farms. Yet you 
would be astonished what influence he has acquired in the 
neighborhood, as well as on his uncle Sir Evan Grant’s ex- 
tensive property near mine. All my people talk of his old 
descent, and his high principles and extensive benevolence, 
as if he were really a man of consequence.” 

44 Mr. Grant may say, like Sir Lucius O’Trigger, though 
the mansion-house and dirty acres have slipped away, our 
honor and the family pictures remain as fresh as ever,” ob- 
served Miss Marabout, with a contemptuous laugh. 

44 1 shall not be sorry to see him back, however,” added 
Eleanor ; 44 he amuses me beyond measure ; and besides, 
when Sir Alfred Douglas and Mr. Grant started off with one 
accord to the continent, it really seemed as if all my hang- 
ers-on had struck work at once.” 

44 You really do task them very hard, and hold out but 
little hope of future reward,” replied Miss Marabout, in her 
usual fawning tone. 44 Positively Lord Alderby’s attentions 
to your white poodle are quite beyond praise.” 

44 Poor dear Blanco ! it will be my greatest joy on return- 
ing home to meet him again,” exclaimed Eleanor, affectedly. 
44 He sent me a wag of his tail by the last letter I had from 
the housekeeper, and Lord Alderby has certainly been an 
admirable tutor. Blanco sits at the piano, and makes sounds 
not much more discordant than Lady Susan Danvers, when 
she sings her only song, 4 Di Tanti Palpiti ;’ and I am told, 
when you ask the dear dog what he would do for papa, he 
barks like a fury ; but if he is asked to show what he would 
do for me, he falls down dead. That was really no bad idea 
of gallantry for an elderly gentleman like Lord Alderby to 
teach him.” 

44 If you could only grind his lordship young again, and 
get a carpenter’s plane to diminish his enormous physiog- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


35 


norny,” said Miss Marabout, “ he might be, with the earl’s 
coronet, a very endurable person. What a pity it is that 
such a man should ever grow old ; but I remember our 
hearing, last time he dined at Barnard Castle, that the 
only tooth in his head was aching ; and he is accused of 
being rheumatic, which shows him to be very much broke. 
In short, it seems like summer and winter when you and he 
are together.” 

11 Bid you ever hear the fable,” asked Matilda, “that once 
upon a time, Cupid and Death having fallen asleep, Mercury 
very mischievously mingled their arrows, which accounts 
for young people sometimes dying, and for very old people 
falling in love ?” 


SG 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


CHAPTER IY. 


“ The yew-tree lent its shadows dark, 
And many an old oak, worn and bare, 

With all its shiver’d boughs, was there.” 


During the progress of their journey, in that singularly 
bleak and desolate stage between Dalnacardoch and Dal- 
whinny, the evening had nearly closed in, when Matilda was 
surprised to observe a well-mounted equestrian, in a long 
horseman’s cloak, and very much muffled up, who rode along- 
side of the britschska, and stared incessantly at the whole 
party, as if he were resolved to identify them : but the in- 
stant that Eleanor perceived the stranger, she let down her 
veil, put up her parasol, and looked at Miss Marabout, who 
immediately did the same, while they began to exchange a 
few whispering exclamations of surprise and annoyance. 
Matilda rapidly ran up quite a little romance in her own 
mind, as to who this mysterious incognito might possibly be, 
and she thought his appearance fitted him admirably to act 
the villain of the piece. He had a dark, Schedoni-looking 
countenance, and his large eyes were so extremely prominent, 
that, whenever he winked, it seemed an equal chance whether 
his eyeballs were shut in or shut out ; he was apparently 
about fifty years of age, but still in the vigor of his strength, 
and rode extremely well. It is astonishing, when people are 
travelling, how intense is their curiosity to know the name 
of every individual who may happen to lodge at the same 
inn, or to pass on the road. Matilda had wearied herself 
with conjectures about the probable rank of their fellow-trav- 
eller, when, next morning, Sir Kichard mentioned, in a tone 
of apprehension to Eleanor, as if he anticipated an explosion 
of indignant surprise, that he had “ accidentally met Arm- 
strong, who offered to breakfast with them at the next stage.” 
This intelligence was received in angry silence, and Matilda 
then remembered to have heard very frequent complaints 
from her cousin, that an old friend of Sir Philip’s had almost 
forced himself into Barnard Castle during the previous sum- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


37 


mer, and steadily kept his position there in defiance of every 
stratagem which Eleanor’s ingenuity could suggest to dis- 
lodge him. Matilda had laughed often at the stories she 
heard of the heiress’s contrivances to affront him out of the 
house, and of the dogged unconsciousness with which her 
hints and sarcasms were all received by the object of them ; 
and she could scarcely help smiling, when at length Mr. Arm- 
strong entered their sitting-room with a sort of awkward 
swagger which is usually assumed by those who are doubtful 
of their welcome and determined to brave the worst. Eleanor 
gave him a look of tall contempt, and scarcely bent her head 
in return for a bow of almost exaggerated respect with which 
the intruder saluted her. Not a word passed between them; 
yet Matilda could not but observe an expression of fierce 
malignity which glittered for a moment in the large promi- 
nent eye of Mr. Armstrong while he bent it on Eleanor’s 
haughty countenance and then turned to Sir Richard, who 
received his guest with that air of easy, good-natured hospi- 
tality which nothing could alter. 

Few words passed between them, however, as both gentle- 
men had good travelling appetites ; and now began il the 
war of waiters, the wreck of butter, and the crash of egg- 
shells,” while Mr. Armstrong u troubled” Eleanor for as 
many cups of tea as if he had been Dr. Johnson. Towards 
the close of breakfast, when Miss Marabout accidentally ad- 
dressed Miss Howard by name, Mr. Armstrong suddenly 
started round, with an expression of surprise, and held his 
tea-cup suspended in his hand, while his large eyes became 
fixed upon Matilda, and he repeated the surname again, as 
if to assure himself of her identity, while she looked at him 
in return with astonishment to perceive the sensation which 
had been so unaccountably occasioned ; and Eleanor whis- 
pere 1 to Miss Marabout, in a tone of satirical wonder — • 
“ Quite a dramatic start! It was really equal to Kean in 
Macbeth !” 

Mr. Armstrong instantly made an effort to recover him- 
self on hearing this remark ; but Matilda observed, with per- 
plexity, that frequently during the progress of breakfast he 
stole an examining glance towards the place where she sat, 
and still the u wonder grew” why her name should be an 
object of such peculiar interest to a person whom she was 
never conscious of having met before. 

When the travellers were about to resume their journey, 
Matilda was unexpectedly accosted by. Mr. Armstrong, who 


58 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


remarked, in an under-tone which seemed intended to be 
confidential, and with a very peculiar look, to which she 
vainly endeavored to assign a meaning, that l - he was de- 
lighted to see her. on the road to Barnard Castle, as no one 
on earth had a better right to enter that house.” 

u We both derive our right from the same origin, Mr 
Armstrong,” replied she, smiling. u Sir Richard’s kind in 
vitation is our best passport.” 

“ Perhaps I could show you a still surer one,” muttered he 
in a mysterious tone. “ It would be worth a trifle to me 
were mine half as good ; but if Sir Philip’s old friends are 
not better treated, your satirical cousin may yet have cause 
to remember a certain fable about the cow who stuck her- 
self with her own horn. What would you give me , Miss 
Howard, to solve that riddle for you 1 Perhaps I may, if 
you promise to make it worth my while.” 

“ It is worth every man’s while, Mr. Armstrong, to do 
what is right, and nothing can ever make it worth your 
while to do wrong, therefore I can only leave you to judge 
for yourself, whatever the case may be,” said Matilda, turn- 
ing away with unconquerable dislike from the sinister ex- 
pression of his countenance. u All I venture to recommend 
is, that you should neither act nor speak upon an angry 
impulse.” 

“ You are the last person on earth who should have given 
me that advice, replied Mr. Armstrong with a loud laugh 
which grated harshly on the gentle ear of Matilda, and she 
hastily sprung into the carriage, where Eleanor wasted a 
number of witticisms on her cousin about the impression 
she had so suddenly made ; but the career of her humor 
was changed iuto a burst of indignation when she heard 
Mr. Armstrong call out, in an apologetic tone, to Sir Rich- 
ard, who looked little less astonished than his daughter, 
that u he should scarcely be able to reach Barnard Castle be- 
fore Christmas, as he was torn to pieces with engagements, 
but would certainly reserve a week or two for their hospi- 
talities at that time.” 

Before any one could frame an answer, and before the 
angry flash of Eleanor’s eye could be followed by the sharp 
word that was ready, the incorrigible offender had finished 
a civil speech with which he expressed his consciousness of 
being “ always so kindly welcomed and waving his hat 
with a look which showed how fully lie understood the real 


on THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


39 


state of the case, Mr. Armstrong spurred liis horse and gal 
loped down the hill. 

Matilda Howard’s youthful spirits rose with the buoy 
ancy of health and natural cheerfulness, her cheek was 
restored to its wonted bloom, and the light of joy and good- 
humor shone in her bright blue eyes, for she encouraged in 
herself that continual expectation of pleasure which is in it- 
self a pleasure — yet she had many difficulties and discourage- 
ments to encounter from Eleanor, which, if she had allowed 
herself to dwell upon them, might well have checked and 
repelled a mind so sensitive as hers. If she was silent, her 
cousin sneered at u people” who thought nobody good enough 
to converse with — when she remarked on the weather, 
Eleanor seemed to think her common-place — if she spoke 
of books, it was pedantic — if she broke forth into admiration 
of the landscape, she was ridiculed as being sentimental ; 
and the most cautious approach to religion was received by 
both her companions with marked disapprobation. As long 
as the talk was of Eleanor’s lovers, her estates, her jewels, 
or her horses, conversation flowed smoothly on with una- 
bating animation : even the outrageous mistakes of her foot- 
man, or the follies of her French maid, were subjects of 
legitimate attention, and her very lapdog was promoted into 
an object of excessive interest ; for it may be observed, that 
when people are exceedingly self-important, a part of their 
system is to raise the dignity of every creature belonging to 
them. At the inns where they stopped to dine, Eleanor in- 
stantly sent the waiter to order “a chop for Fancy, done 
without pepper, and to be served up immediately, as she 
did not agree with irregular hours and it was the young 
heiress’s whim to make her dog of more consequence than 
any one except herself. 

As Eleanor persevered in an aristocratic time of setting out 
late in the forenoon, Matilda gained many hours every morn- 
ing, during which she enjoyed a solitary ramble amidst those 
glens and mountains which are scattered along the High- 
land road. By the peep of day, while the heiress and Miss 
Marabout were buried in deep repose, her early steps were 
brushing the spangled dew from the grass, while the clear, 
cool breeze played among her hair, and brightened the bloom 
on her transparent cheek. Matilda’s sylph-like figure had 
lost nothing of its juvenile grace, and she looked like a 
blossom of spring, while she glided along the shady paths, 
or stood beside the stream, listening with rapture to the 


40 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


morning song of the skylark soaring rapidly aloft, or to the 
brilliant chorus of blackbirds and thrushes, which seemed in 
gay emulation to drown each other’s notes. Matilda’s voice 
was sometimes raised in the deep solitude of nature, and 
tuned to a hymn of praise, while her thoughts arose in ardent 
gratitude to Him who formed those glorious scenes, and had 
placed her there to appreciate and enjoy them. “ Can any 
artificial pleasure of life be compared,” thought she, “to that 
which the God of nature provides in such a world of beauty 
as this ! 


‘ Surrounded by his power we stand, 

On every side we feel his hand, 

Oh ! skill for human reach too high, 

Too dazzling bright for mortal eye!’ ” 

Nature may well be said to reward all her lovers without 
disappointing any ; and never had she a more ardent ad- 
mirer than in the pure mind of Matilda Howard, who gazed 
in unwearied delight on the last bright smiles of autumn, 
already clothed in her fancy dress of many colors. She 
watched the rising sun struggling through the morning 
clouds, and observed, with almost poetical interest, the vari- 
ous and singular effects of mist upon the distant hills and 
moorland solitudes. At times, the fog seemed like a bound- 
less ocean, waving beneath her feet, while here and there a 
mountain-top appeared, like a distant island on the sea, and 
frequently the hills were only screened from her sight by a 
thin coquettish veil of mist, which hung in graceful draperies 
on the height, or stretched in wreaths along the mountain- 
top, till at length, floating off in transparent clouds, it dis- 
played their massy outlines and Alpine forms, broken into a 
rich variety of light and shadow. 

Matilda wandered for hours enjoying the unrivalled love- 
liness of Kinrara, where nature has been extravagant in her 
gifts of splendor and beauty. There the broad sweep of the 
majestic Spey flows on between its rugged banks, glittering 
with gay and dazzling brightness, or else cast into shadows 
of inky blackness, by the majestic forests of natural wood 
which wave over its deep and silent waters, — while the 
drooping tresses of the birch-tree floated over the gigantic 
rocks and Ossianic heights, around which were festooned 
wreaths of ivy and periwinkle. In the distance arose the 
lofty peak of Craigellachie, where tradition tells that the last 
wild boar was slain, though Eleanor remarked that bores 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


41 


enough were still remaining as long as Sir Colin Fletcher 
survived. 

Much as Matilda enjoyed those lonely rambles, she yet 
felt the want of one who would say to her that “ solitude is 
sweet,” and with whom she could live in the interchange of 
thought and feeling. Her disposition was peculiarly social, 
and she had long felt conscious that, even in religion, it is 
almost essential to have some one w r ith whom we can exchange 
the communication of those joys and sorrows which can only 
be imparted in the most perfect confidence, and in which she 
had once enjoyed a degree of entire sympathy which could 
never be looked for again. The thoughts of her departed 
friend brought a tear of tender and mournful remembrance 
to her eye as she glided on with no sound to accompany 
reflection but that of her own light elastic step upon the 
path. 

There was one forbidden hope that forcibly obtruded it- 
self on her mind, and which seemed to recur the oftener the 
more carefully it was banished. Who does not know that 
Vouloir oublier quelque chose c’est y penser ? and our heroine 
could not entirely forget the more cultivated scenes of Doug- 
las Priory, where conversations which had lasted but a few 
moments had fixed themselves on her memory forever. Sir 
Alfred Douglas was the only person Matilda had ever met 
with who seemed thoroughly to understand her sentiments, 
and to whom she scarcely found a necessity for expressing 
them, so entirely did his thoughts sympathize with her own. 
He had shown so much pleasure in consulting her taste upon 
all his projected improvements at the Priory, and she was 
conscious of his having adopted so many of her suggestions, 
of his intense delight in her music and conversation, and of 
his frequent manmuvres to be near her, that nothing but his 
unexpected departure for the continent had occurred to 
check her increasing belief in his attachment to herself, 
which his conduct in several respects had partly served to 
confirm. On one occasion, when he had requested her to 
gather a bouquet of wild-flowers, and she presented him with 
a group of heart’s-ease and forget-me-not, Matilda could not 
cease to remember the look of sensibility with which he had 
remarked that it was impossible for him to keep both ) upon 
which he threw awayjtbe heart’s-ease. and insisted on divid- 
ing the forget-me-not with herself. Time, which had oblite- 
rated many subsequent scenes and events from her memory 
had left that hour as vividly present to her mind as ever 


42 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


but. always anxious to place a proper control on her natural 
susceptibility of disposition, and conscious that, in every 
circumstance of life, there is a duty to be done, Matilda felt 
that she ought certainly to consign into oblivion any idle 
imagination which interfered with the serenity and peace 
that are the best accompaniments of true devotion, and which 
were never in so much danger of being disturbed as when 
some of those words or actions occurred to her memory which 
had once led her young mind to believe that she was an ob- 
ject of secret preference to Sir Alfred. 

To Eleanor, her cousin’s unaffected delight in the wonders 
and the beauties of creation was a subject of ridicule and 
incredulity. “ Why, Matilda, you are quite in a fine frenzy,” 
exclaimed she, sipping her coffee, and looking sleepily at her 
cousin’s glowing, animated countenance. “ You remind me 
of the tourists’ guide-books, which not only describe what 
we are to see, but how we ought to feel. 1 Here the specta- 
tor will be enraptured.’ But I never follow any one’s lead, 
and would not have spared a single exclamation, nor a line 
of poetry, for your cascade. It is the sort of thing I always 
detested, lionizing waterfalls ; and indeed upon that score I 
am sadly like Madame du Defifand, who complained that she 
tired to death of £ innocent pleasures .’ How often I have 
been obliged from complaisance to set out on what is cruelly 
nicknamed a party of pleasure, to scramble up a steep, slip- 
pery, ill-kept path, with occasional chasms of several feet to 
leap over. A canopy of dripping trees overhead, and a deep 
abyss of green leaves below, through which you occasionally 
catch a peep of some stones and gravel, said to be the chan- 
nel of a river. Then comes the cascade, not much fuller 
than my shower-bath, streaming and trickling down like a 
squirt I am certain we might drink up all the water you 
have seen to-day ; and that if a register were kept of wet feet 
and torn petticoats, it would be carried nem. con., that 1 le jeu 
ne vaut pas la chandelle .’ ” 

u No, no, Eleanor, you must have admired it. The birds 
were all crazy this fine morning, they sung so beautifully, 
and the deep bass of the waterfall made a splendid accom- 
paniment of natural music.” 

u I always think, in such a scene, of the comparison that 
a cascade is like a scolding woman, beautiful to look at, but 
in a perpetual brawl.” 

“ Yes, it is indeed perpetual, and makes me feel like one 
of the summer flies that skim along the surface of the stream 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


43 


when I hear the voice of its waters, and see the tumult 
that has been raging there, with so much life and anima 
tion, ever sinee the world began, and which will continue in 
all its vivacity for ages after we are swept away and for- 
gotten.” 

“ Matilda, one would imagine you have visited the Falls 
of Niagara at least , to-day; but I have no turn for rhapsodiz 
ing about frowning mountains, and murmuring streams, and 
fleecy-hosiery clouds. Perhaps one may do so occasionally in 
society for effect ; but to come blazing in, as you have done 
this morning, in a real fit of genuine ecstasy about nothing, 
is quite out of my line. With a wide domain of one’s own 
to admire, where, like Robinson Crusoe, 4 I am monarch of 
all I survey,’ the country is endurable ; but otherwise give 
me any town on earth, Berwick, or Mutton-hole, in pre- 
ference.” 

44 I always feel like Cowper, that God made the country, 
and man made the town ; and mine is like the sensation of 
a bird escaping from its cage, when first we emerge into 
green fields and gay shrubberies again. I could have em- 
braced the first tree on our road, for it seemed like a long- 
absent friend restored to me again.” 

44 4 Ckacun a son gout ;’ — but if you want mountains, Ar- 
thur’s Seat is quite sublime enough to satisfy me. For varied 
scenery, take a circuit of the Calton Hill ; for umbrageous 
shades, give me a parasol ; and for a romantic, loverizing 
promenade, scramble up the steep sides of the Castle rocks. 
Then for moonlight you may indulge in a stretch along 
Prince’s Street, watching the splendid shops, glittering like 
Aladdin’s palace, with gas lamps shining picturesquely 
though a long perspective of gauzes, feathers, and artificial 
flowers ; the apothecaries’ shops sending forth a stream ot 
green and rose colored light ; the pedestrians lounging about 
with cigars in their mouths ; and the New Club, which blazes 
for an instant, like lightning, as you pass, showing a moment- 
ary glimpse of its members, picturesquely grouped on the 
sofas and chairs. How I wish the whole building, with its 
contents, could be transported to my gate, for Barnard Castle 
will be as dull as a hen-coop during the next two months. 
There is no resource in the house except Blanco, and not a 
single victim to be captivated but Lord Alderby, whom I 
shall be almost tempted to accept, for something to do.” 

44 Many girls marry for no better reason,” said Matilda. 

i( True enough ! — I verily believe that if trousseaux , favora 


44 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


white satin, feathers, blonde, and marriage-jaunts were abol 
ished, and that no paragraph in the newspaper was allowed 
to commemorate the event, and no happy couple permitted 
to set off in a more splendid cavalcade than they are daily 
ascustomed to, half the young ladies who fancy themselves 
desperately in love would remain very rationally at home. 
That newly-invented word excitement , is the pleasure which 
we are all in pursuit of ; and, whether it be dancing or mat- 
rimony, therevolution of kingdoms or the death of acquaint- 
ances, all contribute their quota to that degree of excitement 
which is become an actual necessary of life.” 

“ So much stimulus to the mind is like drinking brandy ; 
it may produce temporary exhilaration, but leads to a pain- 
ful reaction afterwards. How different it is, Eleanor, from 
that mental composure and peace which the Scriptures point 
out as our natural state of enjoyment, and which alone can 
be permanent and wholesome. This life has been truly called 
a changeable scene — a procession of trifles — the chief inter 
est of which is not derived from the incidents themselves 
but from the use we make of them in correcting our own dis 
positions and habits of thinking.” 

“ Matilda, you shall be fined for preaching without a li 
cense ! I am always afraid to articulate three syllables now 
because a sermon is so sure to explode in my face. Pra} 
talk occasionally without attempting my reformation, or con- 
sidering yourself a home missionary appointed to convert 
me ; for really, my good friend, if Mrs. Stevens at Knares- 
borough ever wants an assistant and successor, I shall make 
a point of recommending you.” 

" I have perhaps been unguarded, Eleanor ; but the time 
was once when I might have thought aloud without the danger 
of being misconstrued ; and you know perfectly that I never 
talk at any one, but often make these common-place reflec- 
tions, more to school my own mind than others, for even the 
frequency with which they have already been made proves 
their importance ; and I am anxious to forget nothing that 
may strengthen the clue with which we shall be safely guided 
through the labyrinth of life.” 

Advancing towards Inverness, the features of the country 
became more majestic, and Matilda’s heart expanded with 
astonishment and delight when their carriage swept round 
the projecting elbow of a hill, and her eyes first dwelt upon 
the unrivalled splendor of Cromarty bay. Its broad expanse 
shone like a sapphire, amidst, an amphitheatre of rugged 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


45 


mountains, clothed to their summits with patches of natural 
wood, tinged in all the richest hues of autumn, while here 
and there a brilliant sunshine glittered through the branches, 
and painted every leaf upon the ground beneath. No painter 
could have ventured to mix such bright and varied tints on 
his pallet, as were glowing in gaudy splendor beneath a set- 
ting sun, on the sparkling waters, the glittering sails, and 
the waving forests of Cromarty. A light 11 skiff ” of rain, 
which fell in the sunshine as they passed, looked like a 
shower of diamonds, and the glorious arch of a rainbow, 
which stretched across the sky, was reflected like a magic 
circle in the mirror beneath. 

Tears of admiration sprung into Matilda’s eyes when she 
looked upon this profusion of beauty ; but she dared not give 
vent to a single thought that filled her heart at the moment 
when it overflowed with devout and holy joy. No answering 
look was elicited when she turned to Eleanor and Miss 
Marabout for sympathy, but giving a cold glance of indiffer- 
ence at the brilliant panorama, accompanied by an impatient 
conjecture whether Sir Richard had yet reached Dingwall to 
order dinner, they resumed an interesting discussion relating 
to the intolerable stupidity of Pauline, and her extreme dis- 
like to her deputy, Nanny Muckleraith, many strong evi- 
dences of which were related by Eleanor with infinite zest 
and only slight disapprobation. 

“ I never see that poor girl now ; for Pauline is outra- 
geously jealous of her being so excessively admired, and I 
scarcely dare mention her name. You know one must keep 
on good terms with an Abigail, coute qui coute , and made- 
moiselle never does my hair tolerably unless she is in good 
humor.” 

u Then Pauline may be considered as a viceroy over you,” 
observed Matilda ; u and poor Nanny, when exposed to all 
the whim and caprice you describe, must often look back 
with regret on the garden at Ashgrove, and wish she had 
still to sow turnips instead of handkerchiefs.” 

“ Pray send for her sometimes then, and be melancholy 
together,” replied Eleanor, laughing. “ She has almost 
broken her heart lately, I am told, about some foolish at- 
tachment to William Grey, the under-gardener, and it really 
provokes one to hear of such intolerable stupidity. I told 
her once that nature had made a mistake in giving her such 
a name and station, but that, if she pleased me I would rec« 
tify the blunder ” 


46 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ Most generous, indeed,” said Miss Marabout. 

u She was very grateful at the time, but Nanny is nevei 
two hours of the same mind, and has become so flighty and 
odd of late, that I sometimes think she is scarcely in her 
right senses. You know her father was once in confinement 
for a year, and there is a glare in her brilliant eyes that 
sometimes almost alarms me, especially since this affair of 
William Grey, and all her brouilleries with Pauline. Luckily, 
they have not a language in common to quarrel in,” added 
Eleanor, laughing, as each is obliged, for indispensable rea- 
sons, to prefer her own ; and it is fortunate in another re- 
spect, as Pauline is quite a Frenchwoman in her principles, 
if she can be imagined to have any principles at all : she 
flirts prodigiously, and is not supposed to be of very immac- 
ulate reputation ; but I must turn a deaf ear to all gossip on 
that score, seeing that I could not exist, or at least dress, 
without her.” 

“ Is there likely to be a change of ministry soon ?” asked 
Matilda ; u you seem to find great faults in the present ad- 
ministration.” 

“ No, no ! as Charles the Second observed, there may be 
oppression and injustice against my subjects, but X see 
nothing against myseli,” replied Eleanor, in a tone of great 
complacency ; for it is a favorite piece of self-importance 
with vain people to set themselves above general rules, and 
to boast of doing what no other person could venture : sc 
that when Eleanor talked of keeping a maid whose character 
appeared questionable, it was to show with what impunity 
she might brave Matilda’s opinion, or that of any one else 
who was tied down to ordinary customs in their actions and 
thoughts. 


i 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


il 


CHAPTER Y. 


This castlo hath a pleasant seat! 

Macbeth. 


Matilda had not imagined it possible that any accession 
of dignity could take place in the demeanor which Eleanor 
assumed throughout their journey ; but when her carriage 
at length reached the princely domain of Barnard Castle, 
she seemed to swell out with fresh importance, while, as- 
suming a studied air of indifference, she pointed out all that 
might enhance the estimate of her extensive possessions, 
saying, in the careless, accidental tone usual among landed 
proprietors, u All the grounds on each side of the road now 
are mine. I am Marquis of Carrabas , whichever way you 
turn.” 

A fat, unwieldy, consequential-looking old woman swung 
open an enormous iron gate, surmounted by armorial shields 
bearing the Barnard arms, and flanked by two ivy-covercd 
lodges which were so handsome as to give promise of future 
magnificence, and the approach was entered by a dense wil- 
derness of trees, like an Indian jungle, through which the 
road cut its winding way, till it emerged upon the noble and 
extensive park, stretching, with its verdant glades and lofty 
woods, to the utmost verge of the horizon. Large groups of 
ancient trees bowed their majestic heads on every side ; 
while Eleanor, in the exuberance of her spirits, bowed to 
them in return ; and the graceful fallow deer might be seen 
pasturing in distant herds, or occasionally tossing their 
branching horns, and bounding across the velvet sward. A 
broad river, which flowed impetuously through the park, 
swept almost round the house, and was lost in a lake of such 
crystal clearness, that the variegated tints of every tree were 
reflected on its bosom ; and the whole was closed in by a 
distant range of craggy mountains, crested by dark thickets 
of pine, which were seen in bold relief on the evening sky. 
Matilda stood up in the carriage, partly to indulge, but 
chiefly to conceal the emotion with which she was filled by 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


48 

such a scene, and her heart whispered, in a tone of devout 
admiration and praise, 

“ 'Twas great to speak this world from nought, 

’Twas greater to redeem.” 

“ Miss Marabout,” said Eleanor, gazing with proud exul- 
tation at some wide-spreading oaks which skirted the terrace, 
“ I should not like to be as old as the very youngest of those 
trees ; but it would certainly be desirable to resemble them 
in one respect — becoming always more beautiful the older 
they grow. What changes I shall have to make here,” added 
she, glancing a magnificent look around. “No alteration 
has been attempted for centuries, and if my great-grandfather 
Sir Hildebrand himself could come back for a day or two, 
he would scarcely discover any innovations ; but I shall cut 
and carve in all directions, to show what the finger of taste 
can do.” 

“ Those mountains, hills, and valleys will not be easily 
altered,” thought Matilda. “ It is in such scenes as these 
that men have doubted whether the natural beauty of the 
world was not allowed to continue unimpaired, while its 
moral beauty has been defaced. I often meet in society the 
most pleasing natural characters, and I look at such scenes 
of natural beauty as these, till I imagine them fragments 
and specimens, as it were, of what has been once , and of what 
will be again. We shall yet see a new heaven and a new 
earth of unimaginable beauty, inhabited by a people of incon- 
ceivable holiness, whose enjoyments will remain undisturbed 
by those longings after a 4 better country,’ and after a more 
heavenly frame of mind, which we now experience, and which 
it is the business of our present lives to encourage.” 

“ I mean to prove myself a model of taste, as well as of all 
the other virtues and graces,” continued Eleanor. “ You 
know, Matilda the genius of most ladies is confined to plan- 
ning improvements on a cap, or to meandering over mazes 
of muslin and tulle ; but mine shall be immortalized on vis- 
tas, flower-beds, clumps, and plantations which will astonish 
your weak mind. And now let me introduce you to my 
chateau.” 

Miss Howard turned her eager eyes, and beheld, on the 
declivity of a neighboring hill, the noble, commanding site 
of Barnard Castle, which was a striking specimen of feu- 
dal magnificence, with its lofty circular towers, and vener- 
able, time-worn battlements, shooting upwards amidst a 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 49 

veteran battalion of aged fir-trees, which seemed. to pro- 
tect the walls, and bid stern defiance to the gayer and 
more modern tenants of the park. A flight of noisy rooks 
expressed their terror and annoyance at any symptoms of 
human habitation, by cawing and croaking vociferously ; 
while everything around testified to that neglect and in- 
difference in which the place had remained during the 
period when Sir Philip wasted his years in an Italian 
villa, and allowed “ spiders to hang their tapestry” on the 
walls of that splendid home which Providence had assigned 
him. 

The interior of Barnard Castle corresponded with Ma- 
tilda’s expectations, though the floors were all so polished, 
and the roof so elaborately decorated, that she nearly lost 
her equilibrium in looking upwards, and would have entered 
the house with a series of prostrations, like the Hindoo de- 
votees, had it not been for Sir Richard’s hospitable alacrity, 
who met her at the door, and handed her in with a truly 
gratifying degree of em'pressement and kindness. 

“It would require a twenty-horse power to move this 
chair,” said he, placing her safely in one, which stood beside 
a blazing fire. “ Probably some of your progenitresses wore 
out a pair of eyes in embroidering those beautiful designs.” 

“ I hate designs , and designing people too ; but there are 
some of my relations still left who are of that class,” ex- 
claimed Eleanor, in a peevish tone, which was loud enough 
to reach Matilda’s wondering ears, while the heiress stood at 
a full length mirror, arranging her shining curls, and catch- 
ing the reflection of her aerial figure in the numerous an- 
tique looking-glasses which hung around the walls, in massy 
frames of oak. “ How frightful I look, after our long cold 
drive to-day !” 

“ So you do !” replied Sir Richard, archly. “ Only think, 
Eleanor, what successive generations of beauties have ad- 
mired themselves in that ancient mirror.” 

“ But the last is not the least ,” interrupted Miss Marabout, 
with flattering emphasis. 

“ Bear Eleanor, what head could stand all this !” thought 
Matilda, listening with affectionate regret to the fawning 
adulation which followed, while she also contemplated, in 
silent admiration, the gorgeous splendor of her cousin’s 
newly-acquired possessions. Once more, while she rose up 
and strolled, neglected and alone, into the quaint old library, 
Matilda revived her resolution to view Eleanor’s conduct 

3 


50 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


towards herself with partiality and complaisance ; to bear all 
things, to believe all things, to hope all things, and, far from 
bringing on estrangement by that captiousness in anticipate 
ing affronts which is too common on the part of old friends 
towards those who are suddenly elevated, she resolved, in all 
the firmness of Christian principle, not even to u harbor a 
suspicious thought and she turned speedily back, to parti- 
cipate in the joyful meeting which took place between Elea- 
nor and her professed idol, Blanco, on whom the heiress lav- 
ished every term of rapturous endearment, speaking all the 
time in that peculiar tone of nonsense which ladies reserve 
for the entertainment of lapdogs and babies. At length, 
this scene having been prolonged to the utmost possible du- 
ration, and Eleanor having afterwards given to Pauline a 
million of orders and counter-orders, she felt at leisure to 
take Matilda a tour of the sitting-rooms, which she displayed 
with all the gay delight of a child exhibiting its last new 
toy, turning frequently round to her cousin, and exclaiming, 
“ Now ! don’t you envy me, Matilda?” 

“ Certainly,” replied she, with that good-humored sympathy 
which was as ready for the joys as the sorrows of her friends. 

What you have shown me to-day reminds one of Hafiz, in 
the Arabian Nights, who borrowed an ointment which ena- 
bled him to behold all the treasures of the world ; but when he 
wished inordinately to possess them, you know, Eleanor, he 
tried a second application, and lost his eyesight entirely ; so 
let me beware of deserving such a fate. My business is to 
learn how to be abased, while you must study how to abound, 
because both situations are appointed to us ; and I feel such 
implicit confidence it the unerring wisdom which directs our 
different circumstances, that I could almost feel as Fenelon 
did, who once observed that he would not be at the trouble 
of lifting up a straw to make anything in life different from 
what he found it.” 

Sir Richard, who only lived from meal to meal, had dropt 
several emphatic hints on the propriety of being rigidly 
punctual at dinner, before Eleanor condescended to appear 
conscious of their import, till at length she started up, and 
proposed to show Matilda her room. “ But, in the first place, 
like all ladies doing the honors of a country house, let me 
deliver a set speech, hoping you will be perfectly comfortable, 
make yourself quite at home, ring for tea nine times a-day, 
if you choose, and for every other necessary of life that may 
De requisite, &c. Pauline is such a fine lady that I dare not 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


51 


ask her to attend on all the stray misses who wander here 
without Abigails, therefore Nanny has orders to be in every 
corner of the house at once, to arrange all the dresses that 
require to be put on for breakfast and dinner. As for hair- 
dressing, those who cannot manage to do their own must wear 
bonnets, for Nanny is scarcely fit to comb Blanco’s, and Pau- 
line, who learnt from the first friseur at Paris, finds it quite 
troublesome enough to please me.” 

“ If you are superstitious, Matilda, we can soon faire 
dresser les cheveux a la tete said Sir Richard. “ You are 
aware that an old castle in the Highlands would scarcely be 
considered respectable without its own particular ghost, and 
we have a 1 murder room’ here, in which some ‘ Mystery of 
Udolpho’ was transacted long ago. It must be passed on 
the way to your apartment, so look well about you, though 
nothing very supernatural has occurred in my time, except 
that the window-sashes are supposed to open and shut of 
themselves occasionally, and a terrified kitchen-maid once 
protested she had seen the ghost of a leg walking past there 
in the evening.” 

“ Probably a leg of mutton,” observed Matilda, smiling. 

“ You forget, papa, that a noise of steps may be heard 
at midnight, running up and down stairs, often ; and do 
you not remember, one evening, when Miss Marabout and 
I watched, she at the top landing-place, and myself at the 
bottom, with an arrangement that we were to fly to each 
other whenever the noise began ? The agreement had not 
been made above ten minutes before we both heard foot- 
steps, and flew to meet ; but though she came down, and I 
ran up, we saw no living creature ‘on the way.’ ” 

u You were probably both much excited, and mistook each 
other’s steps for something supernatural,” observed Sir 
Richard ; u but I remember long ago a Ghost Club at 
Bath, for which you might both have been eligible candi- 
dates, as no one could be admitted without telling a per- 
fectly new and well-authenticated story of an apparition. 
The ‘ murder-room’ in this house is certainly very singular, 
as it had been shut up for ages and completely forgotten, 
till, in moving an old picture, the door was discovered by 
Sir Philip, who told me that nothing could be more strange 
than the first coup & ceil. Whoever had been the last in- 
habitant, every article remained precisely as he had left it a 
hundred years before. The bed was turned down, ready to 
be slept in, — towels were laying about the room” 


52 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


11 His very boot-jack and slippers, I suppose,” added Ma- 
tilda, laughing. 11 It reminds one, in a small way, of Her- 
culaneum, and I feel quite delighted to hear that we pass 
near it in going to my lodging, that I may drop in, for a 
moment, — only for one moment, Sir Richard, to lionize.” 

The baronet looked at his watch, and shook his head ; 
but Eleanor beckoned to her cousin with an air of more 
easy familiarity than she had condescended to assume lately, 
and they both hurried up a narrow, perpendicular back-stair, 
near the summit of which were two opposite doors, one 
leading into Matilda’s room, and the other, which Eleanor 
opened first, ushered them into an apartment more singular 
in its aspect than her guest had been at all prepared to see. 
It was a large, low-roofed, dark-looking gallery, filled with 
lumber, and the extent was so vast, that in a dingy twilight, 
which penetrated through one or two narrow-pointed case- 
ments, the distance was lost in obscurity, though enough 
was revealed at one glance to afford the ready eye of Ma- 
tilda a field of unbounded diversion and curiosity. Close to 
the wall were ranged a double, and in some places a triple 
pile of foreign pictures, many in frames, and others only 
stretched upon wood. A few of the subjects were laughably 
grotesque, and others appeared to be splendid specimens of 
art, which Sir Philip had probably meant to suspend in the 
drawing-rooms when he returned home. Packing boxes on 
every side had been recently opened, and the floor was 
strewed with mutilated statues, Herculaneum vases, casts 
from the antique, models of Rome, Pere la Chaise, and the 
Alps ; cabinets, gems, marble tables, grotesque jars, and 
Roman enamels. High above all, as if contemplating this 
scene of devastation and disorder, stood a full-length portrait 
of Sir Philip Barnard, in all the bloom of youth, and of that 
handsome exterior for which he had once been celebrated. 
Matilda paused a moment to contemplate it, and she felt as 
if a whole lifetime were comprised in that single glance. He 
seemed then just entering into manhood, full of buoyant an- 
imation, and rich in the gifts of nature and fortune. All 
had now passed away — and what had been the result? No 
domestic affection had brightened his enjoyments — no grate- 
ful tenantry had blessed his liberality — mot a tear had been 
shed over his grave — not a human being had been benefited 
by his existence — but a multitude of statues and pictures 
were transplanted from Rome and Florence at his command 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT 


53 


which now surrounded him in apparent mockery of his 
Wasted years and scattered income. 

" It will divert me some wet morning to arrange the best 
of these portraits in the entrance-hall,” said Eleanor. u My 
gfim-looking ancestors have literally returned to the dust, 
they are so encrusted with it. Most of them were collateral 
relations, old maiden aunts, or admirals and generals who 
performed the parts of uncles in their time, but I am about 
to dignify them all with new names. The family pedigree 
has furnished me with a list of innumerable peers and ladies 
of quality, who connected themselves with us ages ago, and 
I shall have their style and titles engraved in gilt letters on 
these frames.” 

“ But, my dear Eleanor ! what a want of historical vefa- 
city ! — you cannot seriously intend turning those worthy, 
respectable ladies and gentlemen into arrant impostors ! 
Though this house has been so long shut up, visitors might 
come who could detect the alteration, and you may then 
perhaps feel, like the valet in the play, that it is easy to 
tell falsehoods, but it hurts one’s conscience to be found 
out.” 

u I see no harm in the joke at all! — every body’s ances- 
tors look precisely the same. For instance, that lady with 
the large nosegay in one hand, and a hawk resting on the 
other ; or this smiling sylph, with coral lips and an invisible 
waist, is extant in all the galleries I ever entered ; and ditto 
the gentleman in pink cheeks, full-bottomed wig, and steel 
armor, with a cannon just going off at his back. Their 
duplicates may be found in every old house you visit, with 
different names, so why should not I indulge my whim, see- 
ing that it is the only plan which will enable me with any 
advantage to display them ? The collection is so large and 
miscellaneous, that I shall be obliged to decorate the out- 
side wall of the house with pictures at last, and as for the 
statues, I wish many of them could be broken into stones for 
the road, they are such mere lumber.” 

“ I cannot really stay to hear you quizzing these vener- 
able antiquities to their faces, and making me too late for 
dinner,” said Matilda, leading the way to her own room. 
“ You know, Eleanor, that the only subject on earth in 
which the whole civilized world has agreed, is in admiring 
ouch ancient specimens of art as these, and I shall take 
many opportunities here of improving my acquaintance 
with them.” 


54 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


Miss Fitz-Patrick proceeded to stir up her cousin’s fire, 
which was already like a furnace, and after indulging in a 
critical examination of her simple, unadorned dressing-box, 
she carelessly expressed a hope that Matilda would be com- 
fortable, and lounged towards the door, humming an opera 
tune, as was her continual custom, for wherever she went 
Eleanor might be heard, like a linnet, all over the house. 
11 1 shall send up Nanny to unpack your valuables ,” said she, 
satirically ; “ but really, Matilda, that plain, uncut crystal 
in the dressing-case looks so like a gentleman’s paraphar- 
nalia, that I consider it quite improper .” 

Matilda was disturbed from an interesting reverie into 
which she had fallen after Eleanor’s departure, by a gentle 
tap at the door, and immediately afterwards a smart little 
figure entered, most fantastically dressed as a French sou- 
brette, with her face shaded beneath a torrent of ringlets, 
and a light soufflet of a cap put on in the last extreme of 
affectation. Having looked at the intruder for some mo- 
ments in silent perplexity, she suddenly exclaimed, with un- 
feigned astonishment, — “ Nanny! — can it be possible ! — you 
are so altered that I really did not recognise you!” 

Probably not, Miss Howard,” replied she, dropping a 
very rustic curtsy, and looking exceedingly conceited ; u Miss 
Fitz-Patrick said, when she sent me here, ma’am, that I was 
so improved you would scarcely know me.” 

“ I did not say you were improved , Nanny, but altered, 
and not, I fear, as far as can yet be seen, for the better ; you 
know well how much I am interested in your welfare, and 
that since the time when we both were children, my feelings 
have been the same, therefore it gives me real regret to see 
that you have become thin and pale. Ribbons and millinery 
cannot conceal the real fact from an old friend like me, 
Nanny, and I am perfectly convinced you are unhappy, 
though I will say no more on the subject now, unless you 
want advice, or wish to intrust me with the cause of your 
uneasiness.” 

The kindness of Matilda’s manner, and the gentle, though 
sorrowful tone of her voice, recalled old feelings and associ- 
ations to Nanny’s mind — her newly-acquired affectation van- 
ished at once, and she hung down her head in silence, while 
her color went and came with alarming rapidity. Matilda 
proceeded with her toilette in silence ; but at length, before 
she left the room, Nanny had recovered her voice, and seemed 
anxious to tell the whole history of her distresses, from 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


55 


which Matilda plainly gathered how deeply she was attached 
to William Grey, her former lover, though Eleanor’s advice, 
and the ridicule which had been thrown upon his rustic man 
ners and appearance among her own new associates, had in- 
duced her hastily to break off an engagement which had long 
subsisted between them, and the struggle of love and ambi- 
tion that became obvious when she spoke would have caused 
Matilda to smile had the subject been less serious in its con- 
sequences than appeared probable. Nanny spoke with a 
husky voice and a quivering lip, while she hastily plaited 
up her apron into every possible shape, and occasionally 
stole a glance at the mirror, which generally altered the cur- 
rent of her expressions from the sincerity of nature to an arti- 
ficial tone of rather comical conceit. 

” I often think, Miss Howard, of the time when William 
was such a good scholar at your Sunday-school — what a 
clever workman he is, too ! — and then such beautiful flowers 
as he brought to church for me ! Many an evening he twisted 
garlands of roses and honeysuckles in my bonnet while we 
sat by the river singing our hymns together — but that is over 
now. We can never be friends again as we were, and often 
I can neither rest nor sleep for sorrow to think how all is 
ended. Every one says it is for my good, and that I shall 
do much better, because William is too poor to marry,” ad- 
ded Nanny, catching a glimpse of the looking-glass. “ I 
should have had no comfort with him, but hard work con- 
tinually and coarse food. Indeed, Miss Howard, it is im- 
possible to do without my tea twice a-day, now that I am 
used to it ; and we have everything so grand at the second 
table that I can never get accustomed to any discomfort 
again. How astonished William Grey would be ! But he 
never comes to the house now, for he can only be admitted 
to the kitchen, and I could not help laughing the last time 
he went there at the way he was ridiculed and taken off by 
Sir Bichard’s gentleman, who can speak as like him as pos- 
sible, and answered all he said in a vulgar voice, the same as 
his own, but rather worse.” 

“ This is sad indeed, Nanny ! I am sorry for what you tel] 
me about William. He was an honest-hearted, well-princi- 
pled young man, who would probably have made you happy, 
and the trifling reasons that have caused a change cannot 
long satisfy your own mind ; but it is well when people altei 
before marriage rather than after their engagement is irre 
vocable.” 


50 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ Yes, ma’am,” said Nanny in a very doubtful tone and 
with tears in her eyes. 

“ I trust you will now find all for the best and never re- 
pent of your decision. But, Nanny, you are in new and 
trying circumstances here, which makes me feel most anx 
ious on your account. Think for an instant of your kind 
benefactress who is now no more, and reflect what would 
have been her feelings if she could see you at this moment. 
The change is great already since you first learnt to repeat 
at school such texts as these — ‘ Be ye clothed with humility 
— be not high minded — let not the prince of this world 
gain dominion over you.’ Alas, Nanny! the friend who 
would have advised and warned you is now no more, and 
who shall supply her place to either of us % She dreaded 
your being placed in a situation of such difficulty and temp- 
tation as this ; but once having eutered it, you may find 
strength sufficient for every trial, if you seek it aright. Do 
not destroy the simplicity of mind and manners that you 
once had, for be assured nothing can be gained that will 
compensate for the loss, and you may become ridiculous even 
to those who appear most friendly. You move about the 
room now with as many contortions as an eel, and none of 
the faces you make in speaking are better than the face you 
have by nature. Let me hope, then, that when you attend 
on me I may see the Nanny of former days to remind me 
of Ashgrove, and be assured that I shall feel the warmest 
interest in your welfare as long as you' continue to deserve 
it. I little thought at one time that such a doubt could be 
possible ; but the true test of principle is consistency in small 
matters as well as in the greatest, and before long I hope to 
see your dress and appearance more in accordance wivh the 
sober and rational mind you once had, and with tb<e self 
denying doctrines which we have both been taught.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


51 


CHAPTER VI. 


That weariness of all 
We meet, or feel, or hear, or see. 

Colerid . 


It is difficult to realize in our own conceptions, that the 
noiseless foot of Time invariably advances at the same pace, 
neither accelerated during our seasons of joy, nor lingering 
in the days of our weariness. Months passed on at Barnard 
Castle in the tranquil uniformity so agreeable to those who 
have mental resources, but most tedious and intolerable 
to the many who, like Sir Richard Fitz-Patrick and his 
daughter, depend for happiness on external amusement. 
Eleanor, “ stretched on the rack of a too easy chair,” fretted 
and complained forever, protesting that Time had certainly 
put a drag on his chariot-wheels on purpose to tease her, and 
Miss Marabout laboriously tried to beguile the weight of 
present ennui by holding out the promise of future amusement 
when Christmas festivities and an approaching election might 
be anticipated as the certain harbingers of gayety — every 
night she remarked, in a tone of satisfaction, that one day 
was over, and on Sunday mornings her regular salutation to 
Eleanor was, that another week had passed, and that Christ- 
mas must be at hand. 

“Yes,” replied she in a tone of peevish resignation, “as 
the tenant said who wanted a lease of his farm for several 
centuries, ‘ a thousand years soon passes away,’ and it must 
be almost as long since we came here — even the post-bag is 
empty to-day, which always happens on a rainy morning.” 

“ It would be an excellent expedient,” observed Sir 
Richard, “ to hire a few gossiping correspondents, who shall 
write regularly, and be paid like a magazine, at so much a 
line, and double price if the letter comes on a bad day. I 
would deduct, however, all paragraphs of apology for not 
writing longer, or sooner, or oftener — all professions of 
friendship, and everything in the slightest degree senti 
mental.” 


3 * 


58 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


u What havoc you would make at the post-office, if these 
were all expunged,” said Matilda : “ many of our letters 
would reach their destination as blank sheets of paper.” 

“ I wonder that no quack advertisement ever proposes an 
infallible cure for ennui !” exclaimed Eleanor, languidly. 

“ Fling but a stone, the giant dies,” replied Matilda ; u no- 
thing can rid us of it entirely but exertion.” 

Meantime Eleanor never seemed to think of planning 
iny excursions to lionize her guest over the beautiful scenery 
iround ; but she cantered off on horseback alone, leaving 
Matilda to explore, in solitude, the romantic glens, and al- 
uost inaccessible hills in the neighborhood ; while her 
sketch-book became filled with views of the wild, deep ra- 
vines, the ivy-covered bridges, the tangled thickets, the foam- 
ing torrent, and the green retreats, to which she wandered 
in silent, but exquisite enjoyment. Like all amiable minds, 
Matilda’s never fully enjoyed any pleasure till it was com- 
municated ; and often did the words of Solomon recur to her 
meditations — “Wo to him that is alone!” she continually 
found the want of a friend whose feelings might be an echo 
to her own, as even in religious enjoyment the mind seeks 
communion with a kindred spirit, that “ as face answereth to 
face, so may the heart of man to man.” Frequently she 
stood on a lofty bank that overhung the village green, watch- 
ing with animated sympathy the joyful groups which assem- 
bled there ; and on all occasions, in witnessing the amuse- 
ments of others, those pleasures that seemed most natural 
were those iu which she felt most ready to participate. The 
group of laughing girls in a hay-field, — an old woman bask- 
ing in the sunshine at her cottage door, — or a child carefully 
cultivating its flaring wall-flower in a broken tea-pot, all in 
succession caused her to stop and contemplate them with 
benevolent interest, while she seldom forgot in an evening 
to station herself at the library window, from whence might 
be observed the moment when old Janet Muckleraith 
retired, after her daily labor. She could discern a clear 
blue column of peat smoke, which curled upon the distant 
hill-top, showing that the cottage fire was lighted, and then 
Matilda knew that the mother and daughter were sitting 
down, with thankfulness and praise, to their evening meal. 

Few recreations were so delightful to her as visiting the 
poor people around, for amongst them she discovered an 
infinite variety of character and circumstances, while the 
strongly-marked features which may be traced in unpolished 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


59 


minds, form a subject of interest even to those whose mo- 
tives are unsanctified by religion. Many there were whose 
genuine worth rendered them objects of real esteem, others 
whose eccentricity was so broadly exhibited, that she could 
not be otherwise iflian amused ; but, wherever she went, her 
first aim was to diffuse consolation amidst the sorrows of 
those who were depressed or afflicted. Her most frequent 
visits, however, were paid to the cottage of old Janet, whose 
busy wheel was laid aside for the short period of Miss How- 
ard’s visit, with a look of such honest, heartfelt gratitude for 
her attention in calling, that Matilda scarcely required her 
repeated thanks to prove how cordially she was welcome ; and 
Martha’s tidy appearance, and still tidier house, seldom 
needed the apology, which was nevertheless invariably made, 
for its supposed disorder. 

Nothing could be more pleasing to Matilda’s young and 
buoyant mind than to observe the devout and thankful 
spirit which both mother and daughter continually main- 
tained. Their lives consisted not in the abundance of the 
things they possessed, but amidst hard labor and many pri 
rations, they spoke of countless blessings. Old Janet once 
remarked, that it was not sufficient for Christians to speak 
in general terms of the mercy they received, but that each 
individual should be able to recount some advantages pecu- 
liar to himself, for which he ought to be especially grateful, 
and hers was a catalogue of considerable length. Matilda 
observed with regret, that, latterly, when her children were 
named in the number of her comforts, the old woman 
paused in the recapitulation, while a tear struggled in her 
eye, and a look of anxious care clouded her usually cheerful 
countenance. 

“ These are changed times with Nanny,” said she, giving 
a furtive, agitated glance at her visitor ; “ and oh ! Miss 
Howard, I wish it may all be well, for when Satan wrestles 
with poor weak sinners like us, he often lifts us up, that we 
may be more easily cast down, and that the fall may be 
greater. She looks ill ; and has a strange, wild way of talk- 
ing sometimes, that frightens me. I am sure her quarrel 
with William preys on Nanny’s mind, but she will not speak 
to me about it, and seldom comes here at all. There are 
plenty of good excuses ; but where the will is, we soon find 
the way. I wish she would settle at home once more ; but 
Nanny is sadly spoilt for that now.” 

Matilda had little reason to doubt the truth of this last 


tJO 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


assertion, and would have seen still less could she have been 
present sometimes when the young beauty visited her mother 
at Gowanbank cottage, where her tone of conscious superi- 
ority, and fine-lady airs, formed a strikigg contrast to the 
blithe and happy looks of her elder sister. William Grey 
still occasionally met Nanny there, though not apparently 
with any intention of doing so ; but all his leisure hours 
were spent at old Janet’s, while he assisted her more active 
daughter in the garden, the dairy, and the poultry-yard. 
No employment came amiss to him when Martha required 
his aid. He nailed up clustering jessamines and honey- 
suckle on the rustic porch ; he cut down the hay for her 
cows in the neighboring paddock, and planted out, with a 
group of lilacs, the view of some rather ruinous pig-styes, 
which Nanny complained of as tormenting her eyes, when- 
ever she crossed the garden. 

“ William,” said Martha, one day, in the exuberance of 
her gratitude, “ I must once more get you and Nanny recon- 
ciled, though both very troublesome people ; I have nothing 
to do now but keep peace between you.” 

11 It passes the power of any one to do that now,” replied 
he, gloomily ; “ she has set me an example which I am very 
glad to follow, and I no more think her a fit wife for me than 
she does herself.” 

“ 1 am grieved to hear this, William ; for Nanny loves 
you still ; and, though she is a little spoilt now, it cannot 
last. I am sure when the novelty of her fine situation wears 
off, she will be the same as ever, and you may both be re- 
conciled.” 

“ No, Martha ! I never should have thought of her, and I 
never shall again ; it has been a mistake all along, a boyish 
fancy — but now I know my own mind, and I prefer some 
one else.” 

“You! oh, William, it is impossible! — Nanny would 
break her heart ; but you are not in earnest ? You are 
angry now ; but remember old times, William, and do not 
quarrel with us for a trifle. Think of the days when we 
went to school together, and you helped us across the burn, 
and gathered daisies in the fields, and berries on the hedges ; 
we had no quarrels then, William, and why should we have 
them now ?” 

“Not with you, Martha,” said William, coloring, and 
speaking rapidly ; “ you must have seen long ago — you — • 
you surely know that every day has shown me how misera- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


6] 


ble I should be with Nanny, and how happy I might be with 
— with yourself . ” 

Martha started and turned pale at this unexpected declar* 
ation ; but, after a momentary struggle, she answered, with 
perfect decision of voice and manner — 

u No, William, I cannot listen to this ; you mistake a 
little anger against Nanny for a preference of me ; but it 
must not be thought of or ever mentioned again. She 
loves you, William — indeed she does. I know Nanny’s 
whole heart, and her sister must not be the person to 
break it.” 

With all the eloquence of natural feeling and true affec- 
tion, Martha entreated William’s forbearance, and spoke in 
defence of her absent sister, while he listened in silence, 
and turned away to hide his emotion. 

“ I seem changeable, Martha, and do not deserve that 
you should trust me at once,” said he, earnestly ; “ but 
time may bring all things round. If you are convinced of 
Nanny’s indifference, and of my constancy to yourself, shall 
we then be happy ? I used to think, Martha, before I ever 
spoke to Nanny on the subject, that you liked me ; and I 
sometimes thought even then that I preferred her more on 
account of what other people said, than because I loved her 
myself” 

Martha turned away, but could not reply — her cheek be- 
came pale, and her step uncertain ; but she hurried to the 
house and closed the door. 

Many days elapsed before William saw her again, and it 
became evident that she was resolutely bent on giving him 
no opportunity to renew the agitating discussion which had 
taken place between them ; for it was only in her mother’s 
presence that they had at last any intercourse. For some 
time Martha’s countenance seemed paler than usual, and 
there was an unconquerable tremulousness in her voice when 
she spoke ; but these emotions were speedily and resolutely 
subdued, so that no traces remained of her remembering 
what had passed. 

Martha usually possessed, in an eminent degree, that “joy 
of countenance” which is produced by a “glad heart,” and 
the beauty of holiness might be seen in all she said or did ; 
for like the salt that seasoned her food, was the prevailing 
zest given to every action of her life by the unseen presence 
of religious principle, and her life might bo considered as a 
continual prayer, from the consciousness under which sho 


62 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


lived of an all-seeing eye being upon her. William Grey 
continued his attendance at Gowanbank, notwithstanding the 
conscientious discouragement with which she persevered in 
avoiding him ; and could he have known how great was the 
effort which it cost her to do so, his estimation of her 
heart, as well as her principles, must have been greatly en- 
hanced ; for it was no common generosity which caused her 
to conceal every emotion, while she continued doing all in 
her power to bring on a reconciliation with her sister. Noth- 
ing could have served more strongly to exhibit the superi- 
ority of what is genuine over all that is false, than to see the 
two sisters together. Martha, in her printed cotton gown, 
checked apron, and mob-cap — active, neat, and cheerful, with 
a clean house, a bright fire, and a contented mind, seemed 
every way suited to be the wife of a hard-working laborer 
like William Grey, who felt completely at ease and at home 
when he was with her ; while her more elegantly-attired and 
far more beautiful sister, assuming a listless air of conscious 
greatness, addressed him with the tone of a superior, and 
wore such a look of condescension in her manner, that his 
usually blithe and merry countenance became clouded with 
displeasure whenever she spoke. Far from being apprehen- 
sive of any change in his sentiments, Nanny attributed his 
silence and restraint to diffidence, and became only the more 
delighted with herself, and the more capricious and conse- 
quential in her manner to others ; so that even the gentle 
Martha, whose whole pride and affection had once been cen- 
tered in her sister, felt hurt at the oblivion to which she had 
apparently consigned all former times, and sometimes even 
thought it necessary to drop a good-humored hint on the 
subject. 

“ How strange it feels,” observed Nanny one day, with 
a contemptuous toss of the head, “when one walks on this 
floor, to feel the sand gritting under one’s feet like a gravel- 
walk.” 

“ Yes,” replied Martha, smiling, “ we have been all our 
lives so accustomed to Turkey carpets, that it does seem 
odd ; but Miss Howard never complains when she comes 
here.” 

“ And those oat cakes you are baking will taste as if they 
were made of sand also,” added Nanny, pertly ; u I cannot 
manage to eat them at all, they are so like a mouthful of 
dust.” 

“ Nanny,” said old Janet, shocked at her daughter’s su- 


UR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


63 


percilious looks, u always enter your mother’s house with a 
proper feeling of respect, or do not enter it at all. I can 
bear any distress more easily than to see a child of my 
own look as you do now. It is a Christian duty to govern 
my own family with decorum, and to preserve the authority 
that God gives me in it ; therefore let me desire you will 
be dutiful both in your thoughts and speech while I am 
present.” 

There was a look of maternal command in the old woman’s 
expression and manner which was very impressive ; but yet 
her lip quivered and her voice faltered. William Grey fixed 
his eyes upon Nanny for a moment with grave anxiety ; but 
no external symptom of compunction appeared on that beau- 
tiful face, for her eyes were fixed on the ground, an angry 
frown had gathered on her forehead, and she seemed com- 
pletely occupied in tying the ribbons of her bonnet. He 
looked indignantly away, and tried to direct the attention 
of Martha to what passed ; but she was apparently too busy 
with household affairs to notice him, and he might have sup- 
posed her entirely unconscious, but for the flushed cheek and 
the tearful eye which were caused by her mother’s agitation, 
and which she vainly tried to hide. 

When William Grey got up soon after to go away, Nanny 
also took leave, apparently expecting that he would offer, as 
had been his custom formerly, to accompany her across the 
fields towards Barnard Castle ; but not seeming conscious 
of her movements, he whistled a tune, and hurried off in an- 
other direction. The young beauty glanced after him with 
angry contempt, and then turned to bid her sister farewell ; 
but Martha slipped her arm affectionately into Nanny’s, and 
looking at her, with an expression of almost maternal affec- 
tion, she suddenly burst into tears. “ Nanny ! dear Nanny !” 
said she, sobbing with grief, “ why are you so changed 1 
Why do you distress our poor mother, and quarrel with 
William ? Who will ever love you as we do ? Oh, come 
back before you are lost entirely ! I see it all ! you will 
learn to despise us, and be miserable yourself. What will 
fine people or fine clothes do for you without peace of mind ? 
William will be lost forever, and ” 

i: No great loss either,” interrupted Nanny, angrily. 

There are some as good as he, and many better, to be met 
with any day. But I am sorry to have distressed you 
Martha. Never was a kinder sister in this world, and I 
must be very wrong indeed before you think me so. It was 


64 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


not right to speak as I did when our mother was by ; and I 
cannot go home without telling her how sorry I am for all 
that passed.” 

Before Martha could reply, her sister had darted hastily 
back to the cottage, and entered it with flushed cheeks and 
in breathless agitation. The old woman’s head was sorrow- 
fully leaning on a table when her daughter returned unob- 
served. A deep sigh escaped from her breast, and she did 
not look up, supposing it to be Martha. Nanny gently took 
her hand, and tried to speak ; but her voice was inarticulate 
for some moments, and she looked at her aged parent’s soli- 
tary grief with feelings of severe self-reproach. 

“ Mother,” said she, in a faltering tone, “ you are to be 
pitied for having such a daughter. I have been foolish and 
ungrateful to-day, but I was always a poor silly creature, 
easily led away. You must take me home again, or I shall 
soon forget myself altogether. That grand house is not a 
place for me.” 

The old woman rose up and threw herself into Nanny’s 
arms. “ Come back ! my child ! It is a blessing to know 
that you are still willing. I never wished you to leave us, 
and thankful shall I be for the hour when you are once more 
safe with Martha and me. We can easily get you work 
about the garden and fields ; for William Grey says ” 

u I do not care what William says,” interrupted Nanny, 
as her sister came into the room ; 11 he is nothing to me now, 
and we are best asunder. The only objection I have to 
leave the Castle next term is, that it would seem done to 
please William, who is the very last person in the world that 
I care about. Sir Richard’s gentleman says he mistook him 
one day for a cherry in the garden, his face is so round and 
so red.” 

The splendid monotony of Eleanor’s life grew more weari- 
some the longer it continued. Every luxury of existence 
had become as essential to her comfort, and nearly as imper- 
ceptible to her senses, as the air she breathed, while the 
exaggerated view she took of petty annoyances caused her 
to be fully convinced that she actually endured that large 
share of trial and vexation which falls, sooner or later, to the 
lot of every created being. While she wished to be envied 
by all the world, and by her cousin in particular, Matilda, on 
the contrary, frequently thought with pity and regret how 
little an undisciplined mind can enjoy even the brightest 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


65 


portion of earthly felicity, and how singularly unprepared 
Eleanor was for the inevitable vicissitudes of life. 

“ What a bore !” exclaimed Miss Fitz-Patrick one day, 
about the beginning of December, throwing a note peevishly 
down on the breakfast-table after a hasty perusal. “ I have 
never been to church but once since we came here, the dis- 
tance is so great for a carriage, and the foot-path so impass- 
able for any one except a bog-trotter like you, Matilda, and 
here is a formal intimation from your paragon, Dr. Murray, 
the parish clergyman, saying that he proposes coming here 
to-morrow, according to his usual custom of giving prayers 
and instruction once a-year in every house to the assembled 
family. He hopes, if that time is inconvenient, that I will 
name any other day which would suit me better.” 

u What an excellent and venerable custom that is!” ob- 
served Matilda, brightening with anticipated pleasure. I 
like in all the great old English houses to see how universally 
they contain a little private chapel consecrated to family 
worship ; but that admirable practice is so nearl} r obsolete 
now, that I am told almost the only infallible proof of a 
mansion being really ancient is when you find in it an altar 
to the living God.” 

a What shall we do, Miss Marabout 1 ?” said Eleanor, twist- 
ing the note into a variety of contortions, and finally throw- 
ing it into the fire. u You know I have an appointment to 
meet some of Mr. Burn’s people at Grassfield about the new 
dairy, which must not be postponed, and, as Sir Lucius 
O’ Trigger says, one cannot possibly be two gentlemen at once. 
It would be useless to name any other day for Dr. Murray 
to come, because I never in my life made an assignation that 
it was convenient to keep, and the whole ceremony will be 
so formidable that 1 am glad of a good pretext to evade it. 
Matilda you should personate me ! — we have never met, and 
it would be a pleasure for you to be in my place a single hour. 
Pray receive Dr. Murray, and say everything proper as Dame 
du Chateau.” 

u Masquerades never take place in the morning, Eleanor, 
and you would not wish to pass a jest upon that good old 
man when his errand here is so solemn and important. But 
if you positively cannot, or at least will not, postpone this 
architectural excursion, I shall be very glad, with your leave, 
to meet Dr. Murray, though on account of the servants, as 
well as for your own sake, I still hope your decision may be 
revised.” 


66 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


u He is a man of extraordinary character, but quite out of 
my line,” observed Sir Richard, carefully stirring his coffee. 
u A few such people in the neighborhood are very advanta 
geous in keeping up a good understanding between rich and 
poor, besides that one likes to see a clergyman act as he 
preaches, and Dr. Murray’s whole life is a perfect sermon. 
The only thing in the world that he seems to be proud of is 
his profession, for no one can be ten minutes in his society 
without becoming aware of it. There is a great deal of dig- 
nity in his manner too, and his eloquence and talents are so 
highly spoken of, that several vacant churches in Edinburgh 
have successively been offered to him lately ; but he declares 
that it is his intention to finish his labors where he began 
them. His remark is true enough, that clergymen, like forest 
trees, should not be transplanted after they are old.” 

“ Matilda,” said Eleanor, with a transient look of serious- 
ness, “ it is no small compliment to say that you will suit 

such a visitor better than I shall, though the time was 

but no matter. He might perhaps bring back some of my 
old Ashgrove feelings, and I do sometimes remember those 
days with a kind of sorrow that you never can know.” 

Matilda took her cousin’s hand in silence, and a pause of 
emotion, on both sides, succeeded. Before either of them 
could speak, however, Miss Marabout hastily interposed her 
word — “If you once see Dr. Murray, Miss Fitz-Patrick, 
there will probably be no end to his demands on your be- 
nevolence ; for a person’s purse is no more his own, in the 
hands of a philanthropist than of a highwayman. Dr. 
Murray and his sister are the most indefatigable pair I ever 
heard of, and establish all sorts of institutions ; each of 
which you must subscribe to instantly. Sewing-schools, 
knitting and spinning clubs, cottage readings, Bible societies, 
dispensaries, blind asylums, hospitals for incurables, cate- 
chising visits, and Sunday classes for the old, and for the 
young, and for the middle-aged. I really wonder if it all 
does any good.” 

Miss Marabout knew that it was easier to get blood out 
of a stone than money from Eleanor Fitz-Patrick for any 
purpose unconnected with ostentation or personal enjoyment, 
and the effect of her exaggerated representation was, as she 
expected, instantaneous, though Matilda made a vain attempt 
to oppose its pernicious tendency. 

u You have built more hospitals and asylums in a minute, 
Miss Marabout, than Dr. Murray has done in a lifetime.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


61 


said she dryly. u There is nothing of the kind at Gaelfield. 
He seems, from all I hear, to be so intent on the good of 
others, that one would suppose neither he nor his sister had 
any affairs of their own to occupy them ; but all plans of be- 
nevolence are carried on at their individual cost. Be assured, 
Eleanor, that Hr. Murray, in his ministrations, 1 seeks not 
yours, but you. 1 11 

u Ah ! when people set a good example, they are very apt 
to expect it shall be followed, and I really cannot afford to 
do that.” 

“In one respect Hr. Murray is an exception to general 
rule,” observed Sir Richard, rising to leave the room. u He 
has on all occasions shown remarkable attachment and good 
feeling towards this family, on account of Sir Philip having 
presented him to the living.” 

“ It has been observed,” said Matilda, 11 that clergymen 
often look so directly to the first Great Cause of all events, 
that they overlook tae gratitude due towards him who is 
made instrumental to their promotion. But so great a moral 
deficiency is one instance, among many, that the best feelings 
of religion may be perverted. It is almost using the words 
of Scripture to say, ‘ If ye love not the benefactor whom 
you have seen, how can you love Him whom you have not 
seen V ” 

Eleanor would have laughed in good earnest had she read, 
in the mind of Matilda, with what lively interest and expecta- 
tion she watched for the arrival of her venerable visitor. No 
individual, in the range of that widely-extended neighbor- 
hood, could have excited the same feeling of pleasurable an- 
ticipation from the prospect of his coming to Barnard Castle ; 
for, with the grace and dignity of a refined and highly-cul- 
tivated mind, Matilda yet retained much original simplicity 
of character ; and it was with a palpitating heart, and a 
feeling of awe nearly amounting to apprehension, that she 
heard the library-door opened next day while sitting there 
alone, and Hr. Murray entered. He was an active-looking, 
middle-aged man, about fifty years of age, with rather homely 
features, and plain but dignified exterior. His high, com- 
manding forehead and clear, intelligent eye gave promise of 
the bright intellect which reigned within ; and, as he ap- 
proached, his benevolent aspect showed at once that his was 
a countenance and manner to attract entire confidence, for 
they appeared to be external indexes of that universal char- 


68 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


ity and kindness which are the outward badge of his high 
profession. 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick, I presume,” said he, extending his 
hand with a cordial smile and a look of penetrating interest. 

“ Only her cousin,” was the reply, with some embarrass- 
ment. “ My name is Matilda Howard.” 

“Miss Howard /” exclaimed Hr. Murray, with a start of 
surprise and an increased expression of curiosity. “ I have 
already heard of you frequently. During the last month of 
Sir Philip’s life, business obliged me to be in Edinburgh, and 
most of my time was passed in his society. He spoke much 
of you, and I felt surprised afterwards to hear — but no mat- 
ter. 1 It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.’ I 
have frequently observed you at church, and took for granted 
that it was Miss Fitz-Patrick. Shall I have the pleasure of 
seeing her this morning ?” 

“ I greatly fear not,” replied Matilda, coloring with dis- 
tress, as if she had been herself guilty of the oversight to- 
wards Dr. Murray which her cousin had shown ; and with 
great embarrassment, but all her usual sweetness of tone 
and manner, she then briefly gave a candid explanation of 
the reason why Eleanor was absent. 

“ I sent previous notice of this visit, trusting, if an en- 
gagement intervened, Miss Fitz-Patrick would afford me 
timely intimation, that any other day might be appointed 
which suited her better,” said Dr. Murray, with a look of 
surprise and of grave regret. “ Let me hope it need not 
be attributed to entire indifference, Miss Howard, that on 
this occasion any other arrangement should have been 
considered paramount to the important mission on which I 
come. You may imagine how frequently it has been the 
subject of regret to see these splendid halls deserted ; but 
how much more painful shall I consider it. if, throughout 
the whole extent of my parish, there should hereafter be 
spread the baleful influence of an example tending to weaken 
the power of Gospel truth among the mwiy whom it will 
affect. I hoped much from Miss Fitz-Patrick. The care- 
ful instruction she is said to have enjoyed from one so re- 
cently departed, and the freshness of her feelings, which 
have scarcely yet had time to be hardened by this world’s 
deceitful prosperities, had caused me to be sanguine. I 
did hope that this house might early become sanctified to 
the service of God, and that here there might at last be 
the long-desired opportunity to deliver a message of mercy 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


69 


from Him in whose name I come. ‘ We are ambassadors 
for Christ.’ 1 ’ 

Dr. Murray’s manner was in the highest degree impres- 
sive, and his thoughtful eye rested on Matilda with a look 
of anxious inquiry , but her head was averted, and her color 
rose, for she could not give one word of encouragement to 
his earnest desire and expectation, that the house of Eleanor 
FitzPatrick might ever be called on by its mistress to 
“ serve the living God.” 

“ There are many here who will thankfully accept the 
benefit of your instructions and prayers,” said she, hastily 
rising to ring for the servants ; “ at some future period, let 
us hope that we may all learn rightly to appreciate their in- 
estimable value.” 

Dr. Murray’s language, in the pulpit and at all times, 
was classically elegant ; yet in a moment he could adapt it 
to the most ignorant and illiterate. He never for an instant 
degenerated into vulgarity, nor darkened counsel by words 
without knowledge ; but his address to the assembled domes- 
tics abounded in illustrations suited to their various capaci- 
ties and was delivered with such fluency and clearness, that 
any child might have understood his whole remarks. Yet, 
though the language was simple, the truths he enforced were 
deep, mysterious, and comprehensive. He indulged in no 
fanciful explanation of texts, nor critical corrections of our 
English translation, by which learned men too often make 
plain people distrustful of their Bibles ; but his discourse 
contained a perfect compendium of Christian doctrine, so 
that no one who heard Dr. Murray with attention could re- 
main ignorant of a single point essential to salvation ; while 
the whole was enforced with so much ardor, and addressed 
with such earnestness to the affections and to the fears of 
those around, that he really seemed to 

“ Preach, as though he ne’er should preach again, 

To preach as dying unto dying men.” 

Dr. Murray observed, that in religion there are three es- 
sential parts which require incessant attention : Our duty to 
God, to our neighbor, and to ourselves, which must all be con- 
tinually exercised by faith, charity, and temperance. In- 
stead of resting in any one of these things, as too many do, 
he strongly enforced the indispensable necessity laid down 
in Scripture for seeking to excel in them all ; and he proved 
in the most unanswerable manner, that each must be actively 


70 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


pursued in order to our being acceptable servants of that all- 
seeing God, who is the only master worth serving, because 
He alone can reward all, without disappointing any. When 
Dr. Murray spoke of sin, and represented its wide devasta- 
tions among men, his tone was not that of a superior, who 
had observed in others what was foreign to his own nature, 
but it was that of a father lamenting to his children a deep 
misfortune, iu which he as well as they were all partakers ; 
while he showed that, for his own pardon as well as theirs 
he entertained the profoundest solicitude and the most grate- 
ful hope. u The ruin of a soul is so great a catastrophe, 17 he 
observed, (i that all nature trembles at the thought, and 
Christ himself died to avert it. Who could know so well 
as He did the infinite and inconceivable importance of eter- 
nity, for His own nature was eternal, while we cannot so 
much as imagine its endless duration : yet surely our minds 
might be impressed with a holy awe to think what our future 
misery would inevitably have been, if the Son of God saw so 
much to pity, that he left the glories of heaven to avert it. 
Shalt we then dare to brave such a fate, and to reject our last 
hope of deliverance and of pardon while yet it may be found 1 
That was an awful moment when Christ shed tears over the 
lost sinners of Jerusalem ; for it seemed as if he would say 
to them — and may the language never be applicable to any 
one here — 1 My blood ye have rejected — my tears ye shall 
have : that would have saved you — these can only mourn over 
your hopeless desolation.’ ’’ 

Anxiously and intently as Matilda listened, on her own 
account, to all that was said, she nevertheless became aware 
of a gradual change which took place on the countenances 
of those around. Many had entered with a look of careless 
curiosity, several with an expression of stubborn indifference, 
and some with an aspect of ignorant stupidity. Nanny 
tripped into the room with all her newly-acquired airs of 
conscious beauty, and old Mrs. Gordon seemed to have no 
object in coming but to watch her with looks of angry con- 
tempt. Yet when Dr. Murray began his address, with some 
kind and conciliatory remarks on the relation in which his 
professional duty placed him towards each individual pres- 
ent — on the deep responsibility with which he must one day 
answer to his and to their eternal God for the care he exer- 
cised over their consciences, and declared the interest with 
which, at every future period, he would be ready to hear of 
their sorrows, to advise them in difficulty, or to attend them 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


71 


in hours of sickness and extremity, the most callous heart 
was touched, every wandering eye became fixed, and all were 
ready, with heartfelt seriousness, to join in a solemn act of 
devotion ; while Dr. Murray at length concluded his visit 
with a prayer, which proceeded from his divinely-instructed 
mind with all the eloquence of fervent hope and reverential 
awe. Tears started into Matilda’s eyes when she heard the 
warmth of language, and the profound emotion with which 
he prayed for absent members of the family, and especially 
for the head of that house ; while new confidence and hope 
seemed now to arise in her mind respecting Eleanor, when 
she joined her prayers to his, and thought of that promise, 
so unspeakably precious to the heart of all who mourn for 
the souls of others — “ The prayer of the righteous man 
availeth much.” 


12 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


CHAPTER VII. 


Where’er a tear is dried, a wounded heart 
Bound up, a bruised spirit with the dew 
Of sympathy anointed, or a pang 
Of honest suffering soothed, or injury 
Repeated oft, as oft by love forgiven ; 

Where’er an evil passion is subdued, 

Or virtue’s feeble embers found ; where’er 
A sin is heartily abjured and left — 

There is a high and holy place, a spot 
Of sacred light, a most religious' fane, 

Where happiness descending, sits and smiles. 

Pollok. 


From this period a new era commenced in the life of Ma* 
tilda Howard. Dr. Murray’s discriminating eye had marked 
the animated interest with which she listened to all he said, 
and in the few words which she spoke he traced her deep 
but unobtrusive knowledge of divine truth. Before taking 
leave, therefore, he expressed a hope that she would occa- 
sionally visit his sister. Miss Murray, and co-operate with 
her as far as it might be convenient in some plans of useful- 
ness among the children in his parish which had but lately 
been formed. 

Matilda’s welcome, on her first visit to Graelfield, was so 
extremely cordial, that she did not long delay returning 
thither ; and it soon became her almost daily walk to hasten 
through a shady green lane which led that way, where, 
under sanction of Dr. Murray, she visited with his sister 
the village schools, and the lowly habitations of the rural 
hamlet. In every house Matilda discovered traces of his 
active benevolence. There the desponding had been en- 
couraged, the doubting were confirmed, the sick received 
the comfort of his conversation, the poor enjoyed the benefit 
of his purse, and the dying found the support of his prayers. 
Dr. Murray frequently inculcated a favorite opinion on all 
over whom he had any influence, that every earthly bless- 
ing is to be preserved only by active and vigorous exertion 
Health, knowledge, usefulness, reputation, power, and wealth, 
must generally be earned throughout an incessant course of 
unswerving self-denial, or they can seldom be permanently 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


73 


enjoyed ; and his own mind seemed in a continual state of 
energetic exercise. He possessed invincible courage, reso- 
lution, and perseverance, which were never allowed to be 
dormant ; for indolence was, in his estimation, next to actual 
sin, the greatest of all enemies to human happiness. Whether 
in reading, in conversing, or in solitary meditation, Dr. Mur- 
ray held it a sacred duty to redeem the time by keeping his 
intellect at the full stretch of its powers ; and even his sleep 
was not the slumber of indolence, but the deep repose of a 
mind and frame exhausted by active labor and intense ap- 
plication. On all occasions he remembered the words of 
Scripture, — u If any man refuse to labor, neither shall he 
eat,” and the example of Christ, who toiled in the vocation 
of Joseph, taught to others the duty of working according to 
our own station and ability. His personal exertions, how- 
ever, were limited to Graelfield parish, for Dr. Murray never 
itinerated throughout the country at the expense of chari- 
table institutions for which a subscription was to be collected. 
He feared lest the language of Scripture should ever become 
applicable to himself, — Mine own vineyard have I not 
kept !” and knowing that his utmost efforts could not ade- 
quately fulfil the sphere of professional duty, while every 
hour passed elsewhere must leave it neglected, he confined 
his eloquence entirely to the platform of his own pulpit. 

Dr. Murray did not keep a diary “ for the benefit of his 
family,” or for any other pretext on which those secret things 
which belong only to the Lord are laid open to public view. 
He considered that it was introducing a snare into his own 
most private hours of devotion if a loop-hole were thus to be 
opened, through which the whole world might hereafter wit- 
ness, as it were, the trials, the sorrows, and the joys of his 
Christian course. These were abundantly obvious in the 
deep experience with which he represented to his own people 
the struggles, the fears, and the hopes which are peculiar to 
every man who would estrange his affections from a present 
world, and fix them unreservedly on Him for whom we must 
be ready to sacrifice every earthly tie. Dr. Murray regis- 
tered no wondering exclamations at the crowds who attended 
his preaching ; the multitude of converts who were made by 
one so unworthy as himself ; the extraordinary usefulness 
of books which he had written without a hope of their ever 
being read ; the meekness with which he had borne the 
a malignity, baseness, and outrageous violence” of clergy- 
men whose opinions differed from his own, and the surpris- 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


74 

iDg respect and veneration with which he was occasionally 
treated. 

Others might speak of his virtues or his faults, but on 
these subjects Dr. Murray’s own pen was silent. There are 
hours between man and his Creator which the dearest friend 
must not witness, for they are “ hid with Christ in God.” 
There are secret recesses in every heart, which none but an 
omniscient God can know ; for, like the visions revealed to 
the Apostle, they are not for earthly utterance. There is a 
separated existence led by Christians in their own closets 
which should only be registered in Heaven, and only known 
on that day when all hearts shall be laid open. Self-love 
glimmers through many a printed confession of extreme 
sinfulness, but Dr. Murray’s heartfelt sorrow for his own 
offences daily spoke in the language of prayer and humilia- 
tion to his God. The duty of self-examination was so faith- 
fully and impartially performed, that he became conscious 
of many sins and many professional deficiencies ; but not 
upon paper were they acknowledged or lamented, because he 
knew what it was for Christians to be vain of their humility, 
and had observed the perverted love of celebrity in men who 
would rather write of their faults than not write of them- 
selves at all. It was by a constant, careful study of his own 
heart that Dr. Murray acquired a facility in reading the in- 
most depths of other minds. He became aware that no 
man writes down his thoughts and actions for himself alone. 
He saw, in various instances, how they became tinged with a 
coloring of exaggeration or partiality when recorded for the 
benefit of friends or strangers, and he felt that his sacred 
duty to his own soul would be best performed by living from 
day to day in the exercise of faith, repentance, and obe- 
dience. To his Great Master he frequently and solemnly 
committed the hope and the desire of his heart, that while 
his own mind was purified and taught by the Holy Spirit, he 
might also gain an increasing influence over those among 
whom he was appointed to minister ; and in Dr. Murray’s 
sympathy and commiseration for others, it frequently hap- 
pened that the feeling which he showed for their sins and 
temptations was the first thing that made them feel for 
themselves. 

To Matilda it soon appeared as if every step which car- 
ried her away from Barnard Castle served to lighten her of 
• a care or a vexation, and her spirits rose with the buoyancy 
of former days whenever she lost sight of its gloomy mag- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


75 


nificence, and found shelter in the cheerful parlor of Miss 
Murray, where she was sure that her society would be 
prized and that her welcome would be cordial and sincere ; 
for there never existed a heart more open and perfectly un- 
sophisticated than that of her newly-acquired friend, who 
treated her with almost motherly kindness from the first 
hour of their acquaintance. Miss Murray appeared some 
years older than her brother ; but increasing age had not 
yet diminished her activity in doing good, nor the cheerful- 
ness of her disposition, while she steadily pursued the even 
tenor of her course, knowing nothing of the politics, the 
fashions, or the ways of a present world. She was far from 
clever, and it was a frequent evidence of Dr. Murray’s 
Christian kindness to observe the patient attention with 
which he listened to all she said ; the forbearance he exer- 
cised in enduring her very flagrant mistakes, and the un- 
wearied pains he took to enlighten her understanding with 
those profound doctrines of our holy faith which were ever 
nearest to his own heart. 

Miss Murray’s creed was simple in the extreme, yet it 
influenced her whole conduct, and directed all she said. 
Though unable, like many more showy Christians, to talk 
fluently, she acted on all occasions with invariable consis- 
tency. She could not give a theoretical summary of religious 
duty, but she was a living model of its practice. She 
would have failed in sketching a systematic outline of doc- 
trine, but she existed in the exercise of prayer, and of that 
charity which thinketh no evil, while, with the Scriptures 
almost constantly in her hand, she continually either studied 
its pages, or meditated in her own simple way on its con- 
tents. Miss Murray had from the very first deliberately 
and cheerfully made up her mind to incur the odium of re- 
maining an old maid ; for though her manners, which were 
simple and pleasing, attracted an unusual portion of good- 
will in society, her appearance was unprepossessing, and 
she anticipated no probability of exciting a permanent in- 
terest in any one to whom her happiness could have been 
safely confided. 

The conclusions of her own good sense had been hastened, 
however, by a family circumstance, so tragical in itself, that 
the lesson of experience and caution which it gave seemed 
to have been burnt into her mind with indelible characters. 
She had once possessed an elder sister, in whom her heart 
ielighted, and who was adorned with every attractive quality 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


76 

in which she felt conscious of being herself deficient. .Re- 
turning home one day, after an absence of several weeks, 
she flew, as was her custom, to Jane’s room, and entered 
it unnoticed. There she was startled and shocked to ob- 
serve her usually gay and animated companion immoveably 
seated in the corner of a distant sofa, with pallid cheek and 
quivering lip, while her eyes were fastened on a visiting card 
in her hand, which she seemed unable to cease contem- 
plating. It might have appeared to a mere observer as if, 
in that small object, there could .be little to raise intense 
emotion, for it contained no more than the words — u Mr. 
Andrew Falconar, P. P. C. yet these few solitary letters 
were the source of deep and heart-breaking sorrow. They 
spoke of years which had been passed in deceitful hope. 
They told of confidence misplaced, and they were a memo- 
rial of former pleasures, never more to be remembered with- 
out the anguish of blighted affection. Among many ad- 
mirers Jane distinguished only one, whose incessant atten- 
tions and devoted anxiety to please seemed to her young 
and confiding heart a sufficient proof of sincerity, though no 
explicit declaration of attachment had pledged his honor. 
His professional emoluments were scarcely sufficient for 
competence, and he depended for wealth on the whim of a 
rich and aged aunt, whose tyranny and caprice sufficiently 
accounted, in Jane’s estimation, for delay. Meantime every 
hour and every day bore witness to Mr. Falconar’s assidu- 
ities — he was the companion of her w T alks — her escort at 
every party — he listened with intense interest to her con- 
versation — turned over the leaves of music when she played, 
and sent her bouquets of flowers from his garden — whatever 
she read he read himself — and when she visited their mutual 
friends in the country, he followed her there with undimin- 
ished attention. Many years had thus passed away — the 
whole lifetime of her youth — and not a doubt ever occurred 
to Jane’s mind of his attachment; when, on the previous 
week, he carelessly and accidentally mentioned to her 
brother that in a few days he was to be married. The 
card which he left that morning remained for hours in her 
hand. It was all that now remained to her of one who had 
occupied so long a period of her thoughts and affections. 
Could she have read there all that she desired to know, 
Jane would have asked whether any sentiment of shame, re- 
morse, or regret visited his heart when he left it. Could 
she have ascertained whether he ever loved her as she had 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


77 


so much reason to believe, slie might have been soothed by 
the assurance ; or if, on the contrary, her existence had been 
wasted for one who desired only selfish gratification, then 
she might have been supported by indignation ; but what 
had led him to prefer another she never now could know, 
for, without warning or explanation, the stroke had come 
silently and suddenly as death itself. 

Jane Murray had what is called spirit. She speedily 
roused herself up to meet the occasion ; called on Mr. Fal- 
conar’s mother when the wedding was over, congratulated his 
sisters, talked of the event with her usual vivacity in every 
company, and apparently smiled and laughed as she had done 
before; but the Inverness Journal, which “ advertized” the 
“ marriage in high life” of Mr. Andrew Falconar, contained, 
not many months afterwards, an announcement which few 
would have supposed to bear any connection with so brilliant 
an event — the death of Jane Murray. From this time her 
deeply-afflicted sister, being anxious at once to establish her 
own mind in a state of peaceful tranquillity, gratefully ac- 
knowledged the advantage of having a brother remaining to 
whom all her confidence and affection might be devoted, and 
carefully extinguished from her mind, at the early age when 
this occured, all that anxiety and uncertainty which must 
ever attend on those who long continue to contemplate the 
probability of changing their situation in the world. Miss 
Murray considered that the game of life was played for a 
higher stake by those who married, than by those who did 
not, as the capability of happiness, or of misery, is unspeak- 
ably increased by entering on such near and sacred ties ; but 
she looked upon it as almost impossible to preserve, in that 
situation, the calm tone of feeling which is peculiar to a 
single life, and which is so favorable to the cultivation of 
piety, though it requires a more than common share of good 
sense and good feeling to render it either happy or respected. 
The longer Matilda knew Miss Murray, the more she 
esteemed her amiable qualities, though the deficiency of her 
mental powers became perceptible in proportion as their 
intercourse increased ; and occasionally the contrast forced 
itself upon her thoughts, between Eleanor, who was all talent 
without good feeling, and Miss Murray, who abounded in 
good feeling without a glimmering of talent. In the world’s 
estimation, how infinitely superior was Eleanor Fitz-Patrick ; 
but in the eye of an all-seeing God, whose thoughts are not 
as our thoughts, the heart alone shall be judged, and the 


78 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


gentle, unsophisticated disposition of Miss Murray far out- 
weighed more brilliant gifts ; for truly and sadly has the 
poet declared, that 

“Not many wise, rich, noble, or profound, 

Shall gain one inch of Heavenly ground.” 

“ Matilda ! I must really take a lionizing peep at your 
Miss Murray, for she seems to be quite a phoenix !” said 
Eleanor, one morning at breakfast, after her cousin had 
been describing, with an eloquence peculiarly her own, the 
good which was done in Gaelfield by Dr Murray and his 
sister. “ It is always desirable to see perfection in men, 
women, or animals.” 

“ I do not promise you that on the present occasion,” re- 
plied Matilda ; “ I neither think any of my friends perfect, 
nor wish others to believe them so. Even Dr. Murray, 
much as we must admire him, is merely human, after all, and 
would be the first to acknowledge that his sins and infirmi- 
ties are numerous every day. He observed to me lately 
that there is scarcely one of the Patriarchs mentioned in 
Scripture whose faults and offences are not recorded there to 
show the frailty and corruption which are inseparable from 
our nature while we continue upon earth ; and that the 
surest proof of divine grace being implanted in the heart of 
man, is when that struggle commences between good and 
evil, which is painfully experienced by every Christian, for, 
as evil continually exists within us, it can only be by quench- 
ing the good Spirit that people are enabled to say ‘ Peace to 
their awakened consciences.’ Dr. Murray’s being continu 
ally sensible of sin, renders him compassionate to the trials 
and temptations of others, for he is not one of those who 
can be humble before God and proud before men ; therefore 
all his people go to him with the most entire confidence, and 
impart to him their thoughts and feelings. An hour every 
day is devoted to receiving any of his parishoners who wish 
to claim advice or assistance ; and his invitation is without 
limit, whether to the evil or the good : for his sympathy 
extends to all without exception. He keeps a register of 
every family under his care, with an account of their num- 
bers, their habits, their wants, and their religious state, so 
that each individual in the humblest hovel is personally 
known to him ; and I often, in my own mind, compare 
Dr. Murray to a monarch benevolently reigning in the hearts 
and in the homes of his people.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


79 


“We shall certainly attend one of his levees,” interrupted 
Eleanor, laughingly directing Miss Marabout’s attention to 
Matilda’s countenance, which sparkled with animation. 44 I 
have always thought that nature or fortune will make a 
great mistake if you are not hereafter a parson’s wife. 
You would mend and make the family linen, prepare med- 
icines and cheap broth for the poor ; and if the good man 
was not particularly bright, you could even compose his 
sermons. Dr. Murray is unluckily rather too old, or he 
would have suited admirably. By the way, he was tutor to 
Sir Alfred Douglas’s father, which is an additional induce- 
ment to render his acquaintance desirable, though I scarcely 
know why that should signify, either.” Eleanor colored, and 
rapidly continued her sentence. 44 N'importe ! we cannot 
live another day without visiting Graelfield, — can we, Miss 
Marabout ?” 

“ Certainly not,” replied her companion in a very indif- 
ferent tone. 

44 Well, then ! to please Miss Marabout, who seems really 
bent upon going, I shall drive her there in the pony carriage 
after luncheon, and meet you, Matilda ; for, of course, some 
charity appointment will cause you to precede us by an hour 
or two in the village, where your face is better known already 
than the Saracen’s Head. Poor Miss Murray ! it is a wonder 
that we did not go sooner to enjoy the diversion of drawing 
her out, as she will be quite a study for me. I nearly died of 
laughing once at an anecdote of your friend’s simplicity, for 
it was so perfectly ridiculous. Lord De Mainbury was out 
with the hounds, and after a capital run, they were com- 
pletely at fault, when he suddenly observed Miss Murray 
tying up a Portugal laurel in the garden. 4 Was it this way 
that the fox passed V he eagerly inquired. 4 Yes !’ she replied, 
4 near that slap in the wall to your right hand.’ — 4 How long 
since V inquired Lord De Mainbury, impatiently reining in 
his horse. 4 Just fifteen years ago next November !’ replied 
she, deliberately. 4 1 remember it perfectly, for he carried 
off our Turkey cock.’ It is alleged that Lord De Mainbu- 
ry’s rage at her stupidity exceeded all bounds, and that he 
gets into a fury yet whenever the story is mentioned.” 


eo 


MODERN SOCIETY* 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A primrose b f the river’s brim 
A yellow primrose was to him, 

And it was nothing more. 

Wordsworth. 


Of all the different aspects which insolent pride can as 
sume, there is none half so oppressive to the object of it as 
voluble condescension, which was the form in which Eleanor 
occasionally delighted to assert her own importance among 
those whom she considered her inferiors. She entered the 
room at Gaelfield with an air of overpowering patronage, 
and with a torrent of words which completely bewildered 
Miss Murray’s small portion of wit or understanding, while 
she ran on with a stream of apologies for not having called 
sooner and been a more sociable neighbor. Something of 
what she said appeared to be serious and polite, but the rest 
was so entirely jocular, that her simple hostess, who could 
scarcely discriminate between the one and the other, stole 
an occasional look at Matilda, with an anxious inquiring ex- 
pression, which seemed to ask, “ Is your cousin laughing at 
me or not ?” 

Miss Fitz-Patrick complimented her on all the good that 
was done in the parish, which seemed really to have gratified 
and surprised her : but she elicited some jests at the same 
time upon Matilda having been appointed 11 assistant and 
successor.” *She admired the garden in extravagant terms, 
though there was scarcely a leaf remaining in it, and pro- 
fessed to think her own not nearly in such good order, while 
six gardeners were employed continually to dress it. She 
fell into raptures with Miss Murray’s ancient Bible, and 
begged it might be left to her in a legacy. She examined 
some scripture prints which were suspended on the wall, and 
after making several ridiculous blunders in guessing the 
subjects they represented, she turned to inspect Miss Mur- 
ray's bonnet, and professed an intention to order one imme- 
diately on the same pattern. A sly look which she stole 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


8] 


towards Miss Marabout in saying this, betrayed to Matilda 
how little any degree of simplicity or goodness could serve 
as a shield from her cousin’s satirical propensities, who now 
proceeded to a critical dissertation on Miss Murray’s knit- 
ting. “ You must positively show me all the mysteries of 
this business, for I intend to reach a great old age, and knit- 
ting will be a valuable resource ; but it requires more genius 
than one would suppose to accomplish it in perfection, for 
they tell me that any one who can turn the heel of a stock- 
ing is fit to govern a kingdom. Mine must be worked with- 
out heels, and people may draw them on the best way they 
can. I am convinced that no lady is ever thoroughly domes- 
tic who does not excel in some sort of work ; and half our 
gadding about now is because we are all so intellectual, and 
would sooner think of lifting Cleopatra’s Needle than our 
own. What a delightful, airy little sitting-room this is! I 
protest the bright yellow curtains, and the profusion of gilt 
frames, lighted up with that blazing fire and glowing sun- 
shine, look altogether so gay, that it would be impossible for 
you ever to feel melancholy here. Such a collection of prints 
and pictures reminds me of the Louvre ! — have you a cata- 
logue? — I must come and spend an hour or two some day in 
studying them all. As for this pea-green carpet with white 
flowers, you must excuse me, Miss Murray, I cannot help 
laughing, it is so like a dish of eggs and spinach, but nothing 
can look better. I guess you never see a room anywhere so 
much to your taste as this ? It certainly is quite perfect in 
its way.” 

“ Very true,” answered Miss Murray, with a look of placid 
contentment ; “ nothing could improve it now, since we got 
home the new book-cases.” 

“ They are very handsome, indeed ! I would give a fortune 
to transport this room by steam, or any how, to Barnard 
Castle.” 

u It would be cheap at any price, if you could purchase 
such feelings as are often experienced within these walls,” 
observed Matilda. u They are what poets might fail to 
describe, and Christians only can know.” 

11 Ah ! here is a stray number of the Penny Magazine !” 
exclaimed Eleanor, in pretended rapture ; u how very enter- 
taining it seems ! Could you lend it to me, for a single day 
Miss Murray ? Now don’t be afraid to trust me, for it shall 
be honestly returned — I am a careful creature when you put 
me upon honor.” 

4 * 


82 


MODERN SOCIETY 


Eleanor seemed really enchanted with her own powers of 
volubility, and ran on for some time without the possibility 
of interruption, while Miss Murray listened and smiled in a 
state of helpless surprise. She had never been so perplexed 
in her life how to reply, but she was spared the difficulty of 
doing so, as not a crevice occurred for some time into which 
she could insert one single word, until her lively guest at 
length paused for a moment to take breath, and then Miss 
Murray instantly commenced the usual routine of what she 
called conversation. 

“ I hope Sir Richard is pretty well this morning ?” was 
the opening question, in her usual placid, gentle manner. 

“He had a cold on Thursday fortnight, but I forget 
whether it was better or worse to-day. Now, Miss Murray, 
you are just the sort of person who could furnish me with an 
infallible cure, — shall it be a gallon of gruel, or a bushel of 
lozenges ?” 

Like every one else, the good old lady was of course pro- 
vided with a receipt, which she instantly prescribed, to Elea- 
nor’s secret diversion, who professed unbounded faith in the 
mixture of acids, sweets, and bitters, which were urgently 
recommended. 

“ Do you continue to have good accounts of Miss Barbara 
Neville ?” continued Miss Murray ; “ I had the pleasure of 
knowing her formerly.” 

“ That must have been a 'pleasure indeed ! She was un- 
luckily bit by one of Lady Susan Danvers’ lap-dogs before 
leaving Edinburgh, and whether she died of hydrophobia 
afterwards or not we never heard ; but I recommended that 
the piece should be kept to see if it foamed. Have I any 
more relations to be inquired for?” added Eleanor in a 
whisper to Miss Marabout. 

“ Are Sir Francis and Lady Howard continuing quite 
well?” pursued Miss Murray, with indefatigable perse- 
verance. 

“Not quite!” replied the heiress concealing a laugh. 
“ My aunt has a slight attack of nervousness, and Sir Francis 
is extremely ill of — of rheumatism in his elbow, or gout in 
his little finger, it is not certain which.” 

“ You must have made a mistake, Eleanor,” said Matilda, 
gravely ; “ my father writes to me continually in the most 
perfect health and spirits. He has not missed going to 
cover a single morning this season, and often wishes there 
were ten hunting days in the week.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


83 


a What a keen sportsman he must he l” observed Miss 
Murray. “ But those who like hunting are very fond 
of it.” 

“ So they are !” exclaimed Eleanor, rising ; “ and those 
who like me are very fond of me, too ; so I hope Miss Murray 
is of the number, for I am quite delighted with you — I like 
you amazingly. Our visit has been really a treat, and I am 
quite sorry that we must tear ourselves away now, though I 
shall often return for a comfortable chat, and to tell you how 
all my friends are.” 

“ Stop a moment ! — you are not going !” cried Miss 
Murray, whose hospitable feelings were all on fire at the 
prospect of any one escaping from her house, without tasting 
refreshment ; “ let me bring you some ginger-wine.” 

“ Not for worlds ! — I beg you will not think of it !” said 
Eleanor, turning with a clandestine grimace of disgust to 
Miss Marabout ; “ I — I am forbid by the doctors to taste 
wine — we all belong to the Temperance Society.” 

“ Ah ! young people never like to give trouble,” said Miss 
Murray, diving*into the depths of an enormous poeket, from 
whence she produced her large bunch of keys, and, hastening 
to a small dark cupboard, she drew forth a plate, filled with 
hard, massy gingerbread nuts, which looked like fragments 
of brick, and having placed beside them a decanter half- 
filled with wine, she hurried out of the room to send her 
maid up with glasses, and her departure was speedily fol- 
lowed by the distant explosion of a cork. 

“No wonder you steal down here continually, Matilda, 
when there are such luxuries going,” said Eleanor, contempt- 
uously examining the gingerbread nuts. One would re- 
quire a fresh relay of teeth every day to enjoy these properly. 
They were certainly baked last Thursday fortnight, when 
papa caught the cold I bestowed on him to-day — it is a pleas- 
ure to get my laugh out! You need not look grave, Ma- 
tilda, for Miss Murray is really the best of human beings. 
But did ever any mortal try to pass off such truisms for good 
sense as your friend does % She would tell me that 1 sober 
servants are better than drunken ones !’ that { nothing is so 
rural as the country !’ and that 1 it is more agreeable to have 
too much money than too little !’ how is it possible to endure 
such prosing ?” 

“ I can dispense with a great deal, where there is kind 
feeling to compensate for all deficiencies,” replied Matilda, 

(l Wit and originality are good things in their way. but not 


84 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


deserving of the precedence they often get in our estimation, 
and it is always a safe plan to he easily satisfied. I have 
generally tried to lower my standard of what is indispensa- 
ble for enjoyment or comfort, because if we encourage fas- 
tidiousness in conversation, in reading, in music, or even in 
eating, we shall so much the seldomer be satisfied You 
would starve, where I would be in the midst of plenty ; and 
at this moment I could make a very tolerable luncheon on 
these ancient-looking gingerbread nuts.” 

u How delicious they are !” exclaimed Eleanor, slyly 
taking one up as Miss Murray re-entered the room, and pre- 
tending to eat, while she hastily concealed it in her bag ; 
“ Pray give me the receipt for making these — I never saw 
anything like them before, so they must be home-made. 
We shall cause quite a famine in the house,” continued 
she, unwillingly accepting Miss Murray’s repeated offer of 
more, and dropping them privately into her reticule ; “ you 
will think me a greater eater than Dando, the oyster-stealer, 
of whom honorable mention is so frequently made in the 
Morning Post.” m 

“ I never read newspapers, for fear of seeing something in 
them that is not true.” 

“ What a prudent plan ! — You are quite right, for truth 
lies at the bottom of a well, and is least of all to be found 
in newspapers. Good-bye for the present ; but we are like 
a pair of scissors, parted to meet again, as I shall long to 
return here and to taste your gingerbread nuts another 
time.” 

“ Perhaps you will allow me to send a few to Barnard 
Castle this evening, and also a pair of the stockings you ad- 
mired so much of my own knitting 1 ?” 

11 Ten thousand thanks ! that is precisely what I wished, 
so pray do !” exclaimed Eleanor, in a tone of rapturous grati- 
tude ; then turning to Miss Marabout when they were beyond 
the possibility of being overheard, she added, “ Only fancy ! 
my foot would look like an elephant’s ! — and the gingerbread 
nuts ! who would have believed that good worthy Miss Mur- 
ray was gifted with so much less than common sense ? but 
her presents and her truisms are both inimitable. 1 The 
French are mostly born in France ! Those who spend all 
their money can’t expect to grow rich ; and health is a great 
blessing !’ ” 

“ Eleanor ! she has done her utmost to entertain and to 
oblige you ; but nothing makes me value Miss Murray’s 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


85 


kindness more than to know, as I do, that if we were friend 
less outcasts, without any one on earth to care for us, her 
kind offices would be as ready, and her feelings as cordial 
as they are now.” 

“ Well ! well ! you are right, and I, of course , am wrong' 
so a truce to lecturing ! — On sera ridicule , et je n'oserai rire.) 
Surely we are out of the Ashgrove trammels now !” 

“ Eleanor !” said Matilda, in a tone of indignant sur- 
prise ; but she could add no more, for words seemed inade- 
quate to express what she felt at so irreverent an allusion to 
Lady Olivia’s memory ; and the cousins proceeded home in 
unbroken silence, together. 

From this time it became a favorite amusement with 
Eleanor to visit at Gaelfield, where she delighted to flatter 
and frighten the single-hearted Miss Murray, who tried to 
believe the intention was kind, though she could seldom 
follow the volubility of her visitor, and never on any occa- 
sion knew for certain whether she spoke in jest or in ear- 
nest : whether the heiress had been sincerely charmed, as 
she professed to be, with her society, or whether she was 
turning her into ridicule, and making a burlesque, as she ac- 
tually did, of the whole conversation. In talking to Elea- 
nor, Miss Murray felt the sort of apprehensive interest with 
which a school-boy ventures on ice which is not warranted 
to be safe, and which, though it affords amusement for the 
time, may plunge him suddenly and helplessly beneath its 
shining surface. The overpowering profession of deference 
with which it was Miss Fitz-Patrick’s whim to treat her 
plain and unsophisticated hostess, put Miss Murray com- 
pletely to the blush : and the easy familiarity with which 
she occasionally domesticated herself in the little parlor, 
caused the good old lady to blame herself on account of the 
constraint and distrust she unavoidably felt whenever her 
lively visitor entered. With Matilda, Miss Murray felt 
confident that she might have gone to the Palace of Truth, 
and not heard a single transformation in all that she said ; 
but a lurking smile in Eleanor’s eye, and the tone of gay 
superiority she assumed, even when her words were full of 
humility, betrayed to her very unsuspicious companion the 
total want of sincerity and good faith which pervaded all she 
said. Dr. Murray’s presence acted for a time occasionally 
as some restraint upon her exuberant self-importance, for 
his address had all the dignity of high intellect, and his 
look was so penetrating that he evidently saw through all 


86 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


her vanity and frivolity of character, feeling a degree of 
pity which, in any one less imbued with Christian charity, 
would have nearly amounted to contempt. It is rare in 
society when the distinctions of this world are not para- 
mount to everything ; but in Dr. Murray’s estimation she 
felt conscious that they only ranked in proportion as the;y 
were used to promote the glory of God and the good of 
others, — objects which the young heiress could not but ac- 
knowledge to herself were the very last which occupied her 
income, or created any solicitude in her thoughts. Neither 
Miss Murray nor her brother knew anything relating to 
Eleanor’s disposition from Matilda’s report, for she con- 
sidered the confidence of domestic life so sacred, that not 
even a sigh or a disparaging shake of the head ever be- 
trayed how fallacious she knew their hopes to be, when, in 
arranging plans for improving the parish, they occasionally 
reckoned upon assistance and encouragement from Barnard 
Castle. 

Dr. Murray at length, one day, shortly stated some pro- 
jects which it was thought might be advantageous to her 
indigent tenantry, and seemed confidently to anticipate the 
pleasure which it must give Miss Fitz-Patrick to be the 
means of benefiting them ; but though she heard him with 
that respectful interest which his manner invariably excited, 
Eleanor now, for the first time in her life, seemed to recol- 
lect that she had guardians, and thought it necessary to con- 
sult them, though with a professed intention to entreat their 
co-operation in the “ wise and judicious suggestions” which 
Dr. Murray was good enough to make. When a subject of 
conversation became particularly inconvenient, Miss Fitz- 
Patrick generally endeavored to change it, by pouring out 
a perfect hail-storm of words, which prevented any one from 
edging in a single sentence without being guilty of absolute 
rudeness ; she therefore, on the present occasion, did so, 
while her auditor listened in grave astonishment to the 
consequential tone in which she ran on with a medley of sub- 
jects and ideas, as miscellaneous and piquant as the castors 
of a cruet. 

11 Dr. Murray ! you must certainly have swallowed a con- 
cordance some day, for I never before heard so many texts 
quoted in support of an argument ; and you make me quite 
ashamed of having so long remained like a Limerick mer- 
chant, 1 busy doing nothing.’ With respect to our church 
accommodation, I wish it could be made elastic, like a patent 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


8 ) 

portmanteau ; I perfectly agree in all you aie going to say ! 
Both Scripture and common humanity make it necessary to 
be considerate for others, and at the same time more mis- 
chief may be perpetrated by attempting injudicious charity 
than by doing nothing at all, so it is fortunate for me that I 
have such an experienced philanthropist to consult. Pray 
visit us often, for we shall always feel it an honor. To use 
expressions common in the General Assembly, never ‘mod- 
erate your calls' at Barnard Castle, where they shall all be 
4 harmonious ’ and if ever you wish to 4 hold a diet ,’ let that 
be at six o’clock, when I only hope your dinner will be as 
hearty as your welcome. We have been threatening Miss 
Murray to drop in, and take pot-luck with her soon. She 
may supply the pot, and I shall bring the luck . Your sister 
is not very encouraging upon the subject ; and I am really 
quite shocked at her want of hospitality, for we are all very 
plain people in every sense. I wish papa was the same, for 
my spirits always sink as the dinner hour approaches, he is 
so sure to find fault, though there are three courses every 
day, dressed by a man-cook, who was skilful enough to sat- 
isfy the French Ambassador. At the same time, whoever 
wishes to gain a point with him should come at feeding-time, 
for he would rather give away an estate than be interrupted. 
You have probably heard that an Ogre once married into 
our family in Ireland, so we have all been great eaters ever 
since. A shoulder of mutton is scarcely a mouthful to papa, 
and Monsieur Martigny drove the whole poultry-yard into 
a chicken-pie when we came here for breakfast one morning. 
There never was anything like the consumption of provisions 
in our house at present, for I have three-and-twenty ser- 
vants, which you will allow to be a tolerable establishment, 
and ” 

“ A very numerous circle, indeed !” interrupted Dr. Mur- 
ray, apparently determined to be heard. “With so many 
immortal souls, for whose 'eternal interest you, as their head, 
must be in some degree answerable, I trust that the good old 
custom of assembling together daily for family prayers is 
not discontinued ?” 

“ Why ! — all in good time ! I am not sure that papa 
would consent,” replied Eleanor, who had suddenly become 
very considerate of Sir Richard’s inclinations. 

“ Did you ever ask him ?” inquired Dr. Murray, anx- 
iously. 

“ No!” stammered Eleanor, somewhat confused. “ Ther« 


88 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


are many impediments, but In short, you know Home 

was not built in a day, but we shall, perhaps, come to be all 
you wish at last. I am not one who can profess a great deal 
more than I feel,” added she, fixing a malicious look on Ma- 
tilda. “ Whatever I do, or whatever I am, shall be without 
affectation or hypocrisy ; for it would be well if every one 
were known as they are , and not as they seem. Tares often 
pass for wheat, Dr. Murray, merely by mixing with them ; 
and those who are nearly canonized in this world will find it 
not so easy to stand the scrutiny of another. We may 
speak well, and live but indifferently here, without being 
known, but that will not do hereafter ; and I would not for 
worlds appear more religious than I really am. Some people 
can talk by the hour in a serious way, but it all evaporates 
in words ; and though they can speak volumes about the vir- 
tuousness of virtue, and use all the mere jargon of religion, 
they forget to live according to its precepts.” 

Eleanor had recently adopted a plan, in Matilda’s pres- 
ence, of inveighing against any particular fault which occurred 
to her fancy at the moment, until every one in the room 
must imagine that her cousin was addicted to the practice, 
though it invariably proved to be something of which she 
felt totally incapable. On several occasions already she had 
harangued on the contemptibleness of exaggeration, ill-tem- 
per, pride, hypocrisy, and even flattery, pointing the whole 
so evidently at Matilda, that no stranger could doubt she 
was guilty of those errors ; while, at the same time, the ex- 
pressions were thoroughly guarded, that her cousin might 
neither openly take the accusation to herself, nor in any way 
disprove it. The color mounted to Matilda’s forehead from 
astonishment and confusion at these implied accusations, 
which being totally vague and unfounded, no pretext oc- 
curred for noticing ; while even the excellent Dr. Murray 
looked at her with momentary distrust, though that feeling 
was instantly dispelled when, with an eye accustomed to 
discriminate, he marked the ingenuous surprise that animated 
her countenance, exhibiting abundant evidence that her 
conscience was at peace though her feelings were obviously 
hurt. 

“ As for acting up to our standard in religion, no Chris- 
tian can ever entirely succeed, for it ought to be nothing 
short of perfection,” said Dr. Murray. “We must toil up 
a steep ascent, seeking the grace of God to help us, while 
Alps on Alps arise ; and none may ever pause to say that 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


89 


his own attainments are sufficient. Yet, in estimating the 
professions and conduct of others, we should judge as leni- 
ently as we hope to be judged ourselves ; for, though it is 
easy to tell what Christianity has not yet done in sanctify 
ing the characters of others, who can venture to estimate 
what it has done to improve them ? It may have softened 
the temper that was originally violent, strengthened the 
principles that were unusually weak, or enlarged the benev- 
olence which would have otherwise been extinguished by 
avarice ; and yet the fruit may not be ripened into perfec- 
tion, for if Christians could become all in this life that they 
ought to become, and all that they desire to be, we should 
certainly love them too well. There is one respect, how- 
ever, Miss Fitz-Patrick, in which I have occasionally traced 
a great attainment in Christian forbearance,” added Dr. 
Murray, kindly turning towards Matilda — “ If, when ye do 
well and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable 

Few people in the world really and conscientiously desire 
to scatter as much happiness around them as possible, and 
few would afford a very large proportion of it to friends and 
neighbors, even if that could be done without diminishing 
their own share of enjoyment. It was singular that, as 
Eleanor’s self importance increased, so did her malicious and 
even envious feelings towards her cousin, whom it was her 
continual study to wound a coups d’epingles ; and had it not 
been for the most peremptory letter from Lady Howard, de- 
siring her daughter on no account to think of leaving Bar- 
nard Castle before Christmas. Matilda would have felt it a 
duty towards herself to take the earliest opportunity of re- 
turning home. Her affection could not be entirely alienated 
from Eleanor by any circumstances ; but, with every im- 
aginable palliation, her cousin’s conduct seemed inexcusable, 
and she often exercised a painful degree of Christian meek- 
ness in not angrily resenting the wilful slights that were 
shown her, of which she sometimes thought it right openly 
to testify her consciousness ; yet occasionally it was impossi- 
ble to help smiling at the arrogance and self-sufficiency of 
the heiress’s tone, for Matilda had a keen sense of the ridi- 
culous, which was only restrained upon principle and right 
feeling. A favorite subject of miscellaneous declamation 
with Miss Fitz-Patrick was, on the necessity for every per- 
son being “kept in his place,” because on many occasions 
she felt irritated and piqued, when Matilda met with the 


90 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


same respect on her own account that she herself did, with 
all the adventitious aids of fortune and property. 

u There is no such word now as subordination,” she often 
remarked. “ In families, in politics, in religion, that is quite 
at an end, and all ranks and ages seem on a level. Children 
are asked their opinions as soon as they can speak, consulted 
about their own education, and allowed to decide upon the 
relative advantages of schools and professions as if they 
really had the power of comparing them. They are taken 
about to visit in country houses, too, in such numbers, that 
I shall have a nursery of about nine here during Christmas, 
each of whom is a little wonder , fit to associate with grown-up 
people. In politics, constituents dictate to their representa- 
tives ; and in religion, the members of a congregation actu- 
ally lecture their pastors. I wonder what it will all come to 
at last ! For my own part, I have a certain station to keep 
up, and it becomes a duty to myself and my contemporaries, 
to preserve the dignity of it. In all situations, I consider 
those who hold them as being answerable to their successors 
for handing them down unimpaired ; and the proprietor of 
an extensive property, like mine, cannot yield an atom of the 
patronage and influence it confers, without injuring every 
other inheritor of estates. Even Pauline owes a duty to all 
other ladies’ maids, and must uphold the privileges and pre- 
rogatives of her office, not merely for her own sake individu- 
ally, but for the benefit of Abigails in general ; and I per- 
fectly approve of her feud with Nanny about keeping the 
custody of my trinkets. I am no politician, Matilda ; but 
you may depend upon it that half the democracy in this 
country arises from great men not submitting to the tram- 
mels of greatness as they used to do. Every pleasure on 
earth has to be paid for by some drawback, and it must have 
been a bore to the grandees of long ago that they never 
stirred without carriages and six, surrounded with a retinue 
of servants ; but to vulgar eyes how imposing that must have 
been, and now, what obvious difference is visible between 
gentlemen of various ranks embarking in a steam-boat, ex- 
cept that, perhaps, one may be followed by two carpet-bags, 
and be attended by a servant? All are dressed in blue 
coats, and all very sea-sick ; but even a master of the cere- 
monies could scarcely distinguish between a duke and his 
tailor — a field-marshal or the senior subaltern of a marching 
regiment ; so that travelling is like death itself now, for it 
levels all distinctions Noblemen formerly used to dine out 


OR THE MARCH OS INTELLECT. 


91 


in a blaze of orders and ribbons, but now their stars are 
turned into comets, which only appear once in a century ; 
and since hoops have been abolished at court, it must seem 
quite an every-day event to go there. I am certain that it 
was a great blow to the Church of England when the bishops 
left off their wigs; and if the judges part with theirs it 
would perfectly ruin the assizes. Everything should be 
done to keep up the distinction of ranks ; and now, Matilda, 
the moral of all I have said, including digressions, is to 
show you that, when the various visitors who assemble here 
next week are all collected, I shall pay them deference pro- 
portioned to their real importance, trusting that neither 
Charlotte Clifford nor you will feel hurt or offended at being 
mere pawns on the board, since I must play my part accord- 
ing to rule and etiquette, rather than inclination.” 

This pompous exordium was evidently meant to prepare 
Matilda for very defective attention during the ensuing fes- 
tivities ; and, not being anxious to encounter more of Elea- 
nor’s caprice than could possibly be avoided, she took the 
opportunity of announcing that Dr. and Miss Murray had 
invited her to spend some days with them at Gaelfield, in 
consequence of which she proposed going there and remain- 
ing until Christmas day, when they had both consented, on 
Eleanor’s urgent entreaty, to pass a week at Barnard Cas- 
tle, and would accompany her back. 

u Can you be serious in proposing to miss 1 the gathering 
of the clans V ” exclaimed Eleanor, with ill-disguised pleas- 
ure. “ Then, as Tilburina says to her lover — 

‘ And must we part 1 

Well ! if we must — we must : — and in that case 
The less is said the better.’ 

There is no accounting for tastes, Matilda, but your choice 
on the present occasion certainly seems outrageously odd. 
I shall either come for you, however, on Tuesday morning, 
or send the carriage, which is a great stretch of politeness 
on my part, as I intend making a rule never to lend it, unless 
when I go a drive myself.” 

It may generally be observed, that when people talk of 
“ making a rule,” they invariably lay down some “ rule” in 
which no one’s comfort is studied but their own. 

During the few days which Matilda spent at Gaelfield she 
felt more happy and at home than it had ever been possible 
for her to do at Barnard Castle. Days flitted rapidly by. 


92 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


while each as it closed left some agreeable recollection be* 
hind of useful occupation, or mental improvement, for he? 
time was passed in a manner which might have been consid- 
ered as the fleeting representation of that pure and happy 
state where u charity never faileth,” and where prayer and 
praise shall forever accompany active obedience. Dr. Mur- 
ray delighted to exercise his richly-illuminated mind in the 
familiar discussion of important truths, scattering informa- 
tion and entertainment almost insensibly around, while his 
only object, never for a moment overlooked, was to fulfil his 
own high vocation towards the souls of others. His exten- 
sive knowledge of the world, his deep insight into human 
nature, and his profound attainments in classical literature 
and historical lore, were all subservient to that single aim ; 
and Matilda listened with unwearied interest and admira- 
tion to the sanctified use in conversation of such varied and 
remarkable talents. Sometimes a considerable degree of 
vivacity enlivened what he said, but yet there was a gravity 
of character, and a subdued tone of feeling, even in his 
laughter, which testified the continual prevalence of serious- 
ness and reflection suited to his profession, and to the sacred 
duties it involved, which were continually present to his 
thoughts. 

Miss Murray’s constant occupation was to replenish a 
wardrobe of necessaries for the poor, which she frequently 
distributed with unsparing liberality, though sometimes 
clandestinely, as her brother’s opinion was strongly expressed 
against any such indiscriminate charities as might, by possi 
bility, paralyze exertion ; and he often good-humoredly fore- 
told that she would bring the whole parish on their bauds to 
be fed and clothed, since the donations she bestowed were 
most frequently a premium on indolence and improvidence. 
li It has been remarked,” said he one day, after detecting 
some of his sister’s favorite proteges in a neighboring ale- 
house, u that in this mercantile country, whatever you cause 
a demand for there will be an immediate supply ; and if a 
demand is raised for beggars, they will instantly abound. I 
wish Dr. Chalmers’ work on Civic Economy could be rained 
down in thousands on the world, to show what true philan- 
thropy means, for no science is more difficult than that 
of doing real good. One would be apt to imagine, my 
dear sister, that if a kind well-meaning person, like your- 
self, had a large income to spend on charity, great benefits 
must inevitably result ; but that is not found to be a neces 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


93 


sary inference, and the more difficulty we discover in serv« 
ing the poor, the more should we turn to the great source 
of all wisdom, saying, ‘ Who will show us any good ?” Above 
all, never furnish crutches to those who can be made to walk 
without them, for our prosperity depends on every individual 
doing as much as possible for himself. All Scotland is 
swarming now with hospitals, and I only hope that no shop- 
keeper who makes a fortune in Gaelfield will ever wish to 
immortalize himself by building one here. Except to shel- 
ter idiots and incurables, the maimed or the blind, nothing 
can be more pernicious, for they are mere hot-beds of indo- 
lence, vice, and discontent to young people; and if aged per- 
sons be the objects for which they are built, it is generally 
but a cruel kindness, because those who would otherwise 
have been carefully and affectionately attended at home are 
thrust aside upon public charity, where outward comfort can 
never compensate for the solitude of the heart.” 

“ Indeed I have often thought,” said Matilda. “ that some 
of those poor old creatures, when conveyed from their little 
quiet chimney corner to the large and lofty rooms in a hos- 
pital. must feel as strange and comfortless as the oyster did 
in the lobster’s shell. How different from the cheerful, con- 
tented poverty of poor old Janet, whom we saw to-day ! I 
often think, Dr. Murray, how much pleasure you must have 
in visiting the poor of this neighborhood.” 

“ Ah, Miss Howard, but I have not many such cases of 
sincere piety, and really picturesque contentment as that 
good old woman and her exemplary daughter. There are 
many anxieties and disappointments in the daily course of 
my superintendence here — for you know a clergyman’s life 
must not be expected to consist in a smooth current of easy 
duties. Luther has truly remarked, that it is prayer, and 
sorrow, and temptation which makes a minister of the gospel, 
and daily experience proves it to be the case.” 

“ I am aware of that now,” replied Matilda, “and the labor 
is so much greater than J had anticipated, that you will 
scarcely find it possible to carry on all you do without being 
soon entirely exhausted.” 

“ No, Miss Howard ! I would consider it quite as wrong to 
be a spendthrift of my health as of my fortune. All we 
have must be devoted to our Master’s glory ; but no more ; for 
He who has put limits to our possession of these blessings, 
has set bounds to the use we shall make of them. You 
blame the man who has reduced himself to poverty by un- 


94 


- MODERN SOCIETY, 


warrantable extravagance, but he who hurries himself to an 
untimely grave by improvident exertion is also wrong. To 
study our own situation, for the purpose of ascertaining the 
fullest extent of our duties and opportunities, is the chief 
testimony we can give to our conviction of Almighty wisdom 
in their appointment.” 

11 Yet I still think, as I have always done, that a country 
clergyman’s situation must be the happiest on earth, and my 
visit here serves to confirm the opinion.” 

“ Its pleasures are great indeed, but its sorrows are also 
peculiar,” replied Dr. Murray impressively. “ My own 
career was begun with all the sanguine expectations of 
youth, when in every plan of usefulness or improvement 1 
expected unqualified good. If I preached, every eye that 
was fixed on mine seemed to hold out hopes of undoubted 
conversion — every tear that was shed gave promise of per- 
manent repentance — every expression of gratitude was sup- 
posed to be directly from the heart. But we must not look 
for our reward, Miss Howard, in immediate success, nor 
must we be discouraged if it appear to be the divine will 
that £ one shall sow and another shall reap.’ His glory must 
be our only object, and our highest hope to hear at last those 
blessed words, £ Well done, thou good and faithful servant.’ 
One great difficulty attends our labors, which may not have 
occurred to you. In seeking the good of a numerous congre- 
gation, we are apt to forget that the reflections which may 
be useful to them are also necessary to be made on our own 
account ; that it would not be sufficient to build the ark for 
others, unless we enter it ourselves, and that the teaching of 
the Spirit is as essential to him who preaches as to those who 
hear. While reading, the hope of benefiting others is con- 
tinually present, and even in studying the Scriptures, I have 
to be watchful lest they appear to me only a fountain to re- 
fresh my people rather than a well of water springing up 
unto eternal life for myself. We have to think for others, 
to pray for others, to lament their sins, and to encourage 
their repentance. It is a labor I delight in, yet the ap- 
prehension is frequently occurring that I may be a mere 
finger-post, directing my people without advancing myself, 
or, in the words of St. Paul, £ lest while teaching others, I 
myself may become a castaway.’ ” 

Matilda saw at once, with astonishment, how patiently Dr. 
Murray bore the frustration of plans and hopes from which 
he had confidently anticipated much success, and sh« ad 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


95 


mired the cheerfulness with which he instantly devised new 
projects of usefulness and benevolence. In the expenditure 
of an income which seemed ample in his own eyes, nothing 
was grudged but what he spent upon himself ; and worldly 
ambition or personal luxury were so entirely unknown to 
him, that his only desire for wealth was to bestow it liberally, 
while whatever he gave was with a feeling that he had 
spared from his abundance . It was not how little might be 
necessary on any occasion, but how much could be done, that 
he endeavored to discover, and the single desire to fulfil his 
vocation was inseparable from every action. Fame, wealth, 
honor, and all that a wakensthe selfish ambition of worldly 
men, seemed like dust in the balance, compared with the 
one engrossing object of his own pursuit, while, “ forgetting 
the things that are behind, and reaching forward to those 
that are before, he pressed forward to obtain the prize of his 
high calling.” 

Everything in life comes to a speedy termination, and so 
did Matilda’s visit at Gaelfield, when, on the day appointed, 
Eleanor’s chariot and four swept up to the little white gate 
leading through Dr. Murray’s garden, and a peremptory 
message was delivered that Miss Fitz-Patrick could not 
wait a moment, as the horses were impatient, and she hoped 
to see Miss Murray at dinner, which prevented her from 
thinking it necessary to alight ; — therefore, with a hasty 
glance of regret round the sunny little parlor, and bidding 
a hurried adieu to her friends, Matilda proceeded to seat 
herself in the carriage. 

u Now confess that you are delighted to make an escape 
from that stuffy sitting-room, and poor Miss Murray’s per- 
petual truisms,” exclaimed Eleanor, taking her cousin’s hand 
with some cordiality. “ She is the most flimsy weak-tea sort 
of person I ever saw, and wearies me to death with her un- 
alterable good-humor. The very sound of her knitting 
pins would drive me distracted, as well as the twaddle that 
she calls conversation and mistakes for good sense. Black 
is not so black, nor white so very white with her. Shall I 
ever forget being accidentally present one day when your 
friend attempted a consolatory address to old Janet on the 
recent death of her husband ! Along with many religious 
reflections, she produced a perfect flock of little aphorisms 
which almost made me smile, if the occasion had not been 
so serious. 1 It is better to lose a good husband than to be 
afflicted with a bad one. What can’t be cured must be en 


90 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


dured. It is not so bad as if it had been worse. Every one 
has his own burden, — and, none of us can expect constant 
happiness.’ She chattered on in this way till I was in a high 
fever of impatience ; but, if you will believe me, Janet 
dried up her tears and professed to feel very much com- 
forted.” 

4: I dare say, she did ! The finest oration imaginable in 
well-turned periods, delivered without that appearance of 
sympathy, would not have had half the effect of Miss Mur- 
ray’s genuine, unaffected kindness. The humblest means 
are often used to produce the greatest ends, for there can 
be no strength or power in anything we do, except through 
the blessing of him who can bring strength out of weakness, 
and binds in the mighty ocean with a rope of sand.” 

“ Very true,” said Eleanor, seriously ; 4i I must tease you 
no more about the good old lady who reverses Charles the 
Second, as she never says a wise thing, and probably never 
does a foolish one. But, now let me describe what an irre- 
parable loss you have sustained by becoming an absentee 
during the last few days. Our party is diverting beyond 
measure. Colonel Pendarvis, Lord De Mainbury, and all 
the hunting set are here. Perhaps we may see some of 
them pass, for the hounds are in this direction, which was 
the real inducement that brought me to Gaelfield to-day. 
Ah ! there they are, in full cry, coming down Glovvrowrum 
Hill, and approaching us ! How very fortunate ! many 
people have hunted a whole season, and not seen more of 
the fox than we shall do now.” 

In Eleanor’s eagerness she completely forgot that her 
young, unmanageable leaders were under the charge of a 
little postilion, whose chief recommendation had been his 
very diminutive size, while in strength he was evidently de- 
fective also. When the dogs dashed past in full career, fol- 
lowed by a troop of sportsmen, the noise they made, and the 
distant notes of the huntsman’s bugle, startled her horses 
and in a moment they became frightfully infuriated. Every 
effort to check them was vain ; for they kicked and plunged 
with terrifying violence, while the boy, who had evidently 
lost his presence of mind, lashed and swore witli reckless 
desperation. Eleanor, in a voice of alarm, peremptorily de- 
sired him stop, but she might as easily have tried to make a 
ship stand still in a storm. She then hastily opened the 
carriage door, with an evident intention to spring out, but 
Matilda, who saw the imminent danger of doing so, forcibly 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


97 


prevented it, though she trembled to see that the carriage, 
which was now at full speed, approached towards a deep and 
rugged precipice, where she had just time to observe the 
sharp turn, over which they would probably be instantly 
precipitated. At this moment a horseman suddenly gal- 
loped across the fields, sprung over a wall, dismounted in 
less than a second, and seized the horses’ heads with such 
a powerful grasp, that they were instantly checked, though 
the shock when they stopped was so sudden, that the pos- 
tilion, who had already been nearly dismounted, fell to the 
ground. Not a moment could be lost, for the horses nearly 
kicked over the traces, and struggled so violently, it seemed 
next to impossible they should be longer controlled, when 
the gentleman, with a single bound, sprung into the vacant 
saddle, and, after a desperate encounter of skill and strength, 
he at length succeeded, by an exertion of masterly horse- 
manship, in subduing their spirit. At Eleanor’s almost 
frantic entreaty, the traces were immediately cut and the 
leaders set loose, when their deliverer proceeded with per- 
fect nonchalence to mount his own hunter ; and Matilda, for 
the first time, recognised Mr. Grant, who rode up to the car- 
riage window, laughingly complimenting Miss Fitz-Patrick 
on the high spirit and fiue action of her horses, while she in 
return observed that bis riding had never been so much ad- 
mired before, as nothing could equal it except Ducrow on 
the high-mettled racer. 

Matilda had been perfectly cool and collected in the time 
of danger, but now, when all was at an end, she became so 
overpowered with agitation and thankfulness that it was im- 
possible for her to speak, while, on the contrary, all trace of 
Eleanor’s terror vanished in the moment of safety ; her es- 
cape seemed a matter of course, and she was at once restored 
to all her wonted vivacity of look and manner. She and the 
lively equestrian had been living in the same house for sev- 
eral days past, yet there were so many jests between them, 
and so many old stories alluded to, that Miss Fitz-Patrick 
evidently forgot her cousin being in the carriage, and that 
she had not seen Mr. Grant for a length of time, though 
they had been formerly intimate. Matilda had so few ac- 
quaintances that she retained a vivid recollection of all those 
she knew, and very naturally expected that her first meeting 
with Mr. Grant would be as important an event to him as 
it appeared to her, which turned out by no means to be the 
case. Having accidently caught a distant glimpse of her in 


98 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


the farthest corner of the chariot, he merely gave an anima- 
ted bow, as if they had been in the habit of meeting every 
day, saying in a tone of good-humored cordiality, “ Ah, Miss 
Howard ! how are you?” Eleanor then continued the sen- 
tence he had interrupted, and Matilda felt herself at once 
reduced to insignificance, while a long and lively dialogue 
ensued, which seemed quite interminable, as her cousin and 
Mr. Grant frequently took leave, but always resumed it with 
some humorous and unexpected rejoinder. 

During this time Matilda found leisure to exercise her 
usual penetration, and to observe with surprise and interest 
that there was an obvious change in the manner of Mr. 
Grant towards Eleanor. He had evidently placed himself 
at once on the familiar terms of an old friend, but no longer 
attempted the character of a lover. There were no traces 
now of that intense interest with which he formerly watched 
every varying expression in her beautiful features, nor of 
the agitated anxiety with which he once had listened to the 
development of her thoughts and feelings. His voice, 
which was always peculiarly harmonious, had long since as- 
sumed an accent of deeper tenderness towards Eleanor than 
Matilda could have imagined any voice to express, but that 
tone was wanting now. He jested with the same liveliness 
as before, yet it was in a vein of unembarrassed famili- 
arity with which he might have addressed his sister; and 
had Matilda judged of Mr. Grant’s mind only by what she 
witnessed that morning, she might have believed, as the 
world did in general, that he was nothing more than an 
agreeable rattle, possessing a greater command of nonsense 
than any man living, who threw care to the winds, u and if 
the winds reject it, to the waves.” She knew Mr. Grant, 
better, however, than to suppose him deficient in feeling, 
though Matilda began to think that he might be capable of 
conquering it, and she anticipated much interest in observ- 
ing a character which she always considered peculiar, but of 
which she had recently heard much to enhance her curiosity 
and to increase her esteem. 

“ I cut all the buttons off my coat, after Sir Colin’s last 
story, to prevent his ever holding me by them again,” said 
Mr. Grant, in reply to a remark of Eleanor’s. “Scatter- 
brain would be invaluable if he were only half as long- 
winded! — So my cousin, Lady Susan, is expected this morn- 
iug! — you probably thought it right on Christmas-day to 
deck the saloon with ewrgreens ? v 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


99 


u Among which, without meaning to be personal, I include 
yew — so pray come hack soon to witness the debut of Lady 
Susan and her dogs at Barnard Castle.” 

“ I would gallop round the world in half an hour to obey 
you,” said Mr. Grant, with a parting bow full of grace and 
animation, while the wind, as he rode off, blew his hair in rich 
waves over his forehead, and heightened the color on his 
sparkling countenance. 

“ Poor Mr. Grant preserves his spirits wonderfully, all 
things considered ; but it is often quite melancholy to think 
how many people I must sooner or later make miserable for 
life,” said Eleanor, gazing after his receding figure as he flew 
across the fields, clearing every fence that stood in his way. 
“ I dare say at this moment he is wishing it were as easy to 
surmount all his difficulties as it is to get over those hedges 
and ditches ; but I must not relent, and have made it tolera- 
bly plain that his attentions are only welcome as those of an 
old friend. Miss Marabout is vehemently in favor of my 
encouraging Lord Alderby in preference, because she say;* 
the richest admirer is the most likely to be disinterested.” 

“Very suitable advice from a governess ; but I am not a - 
all sure of its being founded on fact. One large fortune 
often sets out in search of another, and I rather admire the 
Quakers’ plan, who make wealthy girls marry the poorest 
lovers, and rich men are obliged to choose portionless wives ; 
by which arrangement my intended ought to have £10,000 
a-year, and Mr. Eleanor less than nothing.” 

“ Excuse me there ! I admire bread-and-butter-love-mar- 
riages excessively in other people, but it is the very last 
thing on earth I ever could fancy for myself. I take pains 
every day to show Mr. Grant my opinion on this subject, for. 
as Mrs Malaprop says, 4 1 cannot afford to lavish myself 
upon a person not worth sixpence, and shall be obliged to 
illiterate him from my memory.’ How I wish his uncle Sir 
Evan Grant’s intentions were known, or that he possessed 
Lord Alderby’s coronet and property.” 

“ You remind me of a child asking for the moon, Eleanor ! 
It was a fable long ago, which seems still to be realized, that 
Love and Ambition had once a deadly quarrel, and have 
always since been on opposite sides in matrimony. You 
will probably need to relinquish one or other of these requi- 
sites, and you are the only judge of which is most essential to 
happiness. As for the misery you are so afraid of occasion- 


100 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


ing, I am told it is as impossible to break a good modern 
heart now, as a plate of iron-stone china.” 

“ Sir Alfred Douglas arrives before dinner to-day, and 
perhaps, after all, I may promote him, vice Lord Alderby 
and Mr. Grant cashiered. He is reported to have become 
more reserved than ever, but it will divert me to tame 
him, and I shall not dislike his singularity if he relaxes 
only to me. Mr. Grant is over-anxious to please, which 
takes away the zest of uncertainty in trying to fascinate 
him.” 

“I am not sure that he is quite such a captive knight as 
formerly, and indeed his motto very probably is ‘ Qui me 
neglige me perd ;’ for, judging by his manner this morning, 
I should say that he really seems to feel what you wish 
him to. do, no more than the kindness and regard of an old 
friend.” 

Eleanor looked startled and astonished at these words, for 
she entertained the highest opinion of her cousin’s penetra- 
tion, and was aware of her perfect candor in always saying 
precisely what she thought ; while Matilda felt confirmed, 
from this moment, in suspecting that, though Eleanor’s 
vanity delighted in conquests of superior calibre, yet her 
secret affections had long since been bestowed on Mr. Grant. 
The extraordinary vivacity of his manner had a fascination 
not very common in persons of such gay and eccentric con- 
versation, on account of the high tone of feeling in his char- 
acter, which became obvious even to Eleanor, for it was not 
always in his power to conceal the sensibility of his nature, 
and to make it harmonize with that reckless indifference 
which he usually affected towards everything but the caprice 
of the present hour. 

- Mr. Grant must be in a strange state of suspense,” ob- 
served Eleanor, absently. u It has been long conjectured, 
and seems now confirmed, that Sir Evan is not really mar- 
ried to the person who has resided at Clanpibroch Castle for 
twenty years past. She lives there yet in that state of 
wretched uncertainty respecting her children’s station in 
life which the Scottish law unfortunately allows. Her son 
may either be a beggarly outcast, without a house to shelter 
him, without food, without a profession, without education, 
without even a name ; or he may be raised in a moment to 
the rank of his father, and succeed at once to those immense 
estates. All this depends on the whim of that tyrannical 
man, Sir Evan, and upon the slavish submission with which 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


101 


tlie unfortunate woman endures his conduct to herself and 
to her family. It is a pitiable situation for any one with 
human feelings thus to witness, in silence, the degradation 
of those whom she loves with a mother’s tenderness, while 
she dare not, for their sakes, on any provocation, relieve her- 
self from the yoke of perpetual bondage.” 

“ It seems, indeed, the most miserable state that one can 
well conceive, and if a single sentiment of remorse were ever, 
under present circumstances, to visit her heart, what a fear- 
ful struggle of conscience might ensue while she hesitated 
whether to plunge her children into irretrievable ruin in this 
world, or to continue in that course of sin which would de- 
stroy her own hopes of happiness in another. I caunot but 
wonder that a law which has originally facilitated the ruin 
of many, and kept them afterwards in a state of such pro- 
longed endurance, has never yet claimed attention from the 
legislature, and been at once repealed.” 

“ Yes ! especially for the sake of nephews and cousins, 
who must often be many years in agonizing suspense, to 
know whether they may squander every shilling without re- 
serve, and borrow to an unlimited extent on the strength of 
their prospects ; or whether, when the old gentleman at last 
expires, and they fly out in a state of inconsolable grief to 
bury him and to take possession of the estate, a whole bat- 
talion of sons may not unexpectedly march in as heirs of 
entail, on the strength of some verbal acknowledgment from 
the deceased. It is really intolerable, because Mr. Grant, 
with the Clanpibroch property, might have made a very pre- 
sentable paragraph in the Morning Post, and I need not 
have been ashamed to see myself announced as a { marriage 
in high life’ with Sir Thomas of that ilk.” 

“ Would you marry for an advertisement in the newspa- 
pers, Eleanor ? I think we are both above doing that ; but 
I really admire Mr. Grant’s independent spirit in declining 
to visit at Clanpibroch Castle while his uncle continues to 
live so disreputably.” 

“On the contrary, I think he plays his cards extremely 
ill, for they say he has not the shadow of a chance now ; 
and that when any of his letters are, by mistake, directed 
to Clanpibroch Castle, Sir Evan returns them to the post- 
office. and writes on the back with his own hand, ‘ Not known 
here P ” 

“ Miss Murray related to me yesterday some particulars 
»f their final quarrel which showed an admirable instance of 


102 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


generous independence. Sir Evan always used to treat 
Mr. Grant as his possible heir till lately, when, by an act of 
extreme benevolence, he was led to incur the old gentleman’s 
utmost rancor. Sir Evan’s eldest daughter, a very beautiful 
girl of eighteen, had become attached to young Cameron, 
of Heatherbrae, who would, you know, be a most eligible 
match for her under present circumstances, though, for the 
acknowledged daughter of the family, he might not be suit- 
able. Her father harshly forbade the marriage, without any 
adequate reason for doing so ; and when the poor girl perse- 
vered in importuning him on the subject, he became so vio- 
lently irritated, that, in a moment of uncontrollable anger, 
he turned her out of his house. The unfortunate mother 
dared not interfere, or she and all her family might have been 
obliged to follow ; so her daughter departed utterly home- 
less and forlorn. It was impossible to anticipate what she 
could do, but Mr. Grant heard the whole circumstances, and 
instantly hastened to her relief. He placed her under safe 
guardianship with a respectable family, commissioned Miss 
Murray to supply her with necessaries, and after having 
vainly endeavored to mediate for Sir Evan’s consent and for- 
giveness, he promised to be present at the wedding himself 
next month. Since then, the old gentleman has been heard 
to make vows of summary vengeance, which can be executed 
any day by acknowledging his three sons, and cutting out 
your friend, Mr. Grant.” 

“ Foolish man !” exclaimed Eleanor, in a tone between 
jest and earnest. u He might have done the same thing in 
some sneaking, clandestine way that never would have 
reached Clanpibroch Castle ; but Mr. Grant always acts 
upon impulse, without a grain of discretion. He might 
probably be heir to Lady Susan Danvers, if he would only 
call her young and handsome, instead of teasing her with 
practical jokes, and hinting continually about 4 Ocean’s 
many-wrinkled smile,’ and Marshal Blue-hair's japan black- 
ing for the hair and eye-brows. She is very harsh to some 
pretty young niece whose cause he espouses, and that is his 
reason for tormenting her. There is nothing half so fright- 
ful as a decayed beauty who will not grow old ; and it used 
to be remarked of Lady Susan Danvers and her late sister, 
that the one was too beautiful to be good, and the other too 
good to be beautiful. I wonder if that is ever said of us. 
Matilda ?” 

“ I shall be perfectly satisfied with the part you probably 


OR THE MARCH OP INTELLECT. 


103 


assign to me,” replied her cousin, with a smile of so much 
archness and good-humor that a transient doubt crossed 
Eleanor’s mind whether her own claim to admiration could 
be superior, and a bitter feeling of jealousy towards Matilda, 
which was seldom dormant in the heiress’s mind, now took 
entire possession of her thoughts. It seemed strange that 
there could be any one for a self-satisfied person like Elea- 
nor to envy ; but it was the case from her childhood, and 
Miss Marabout had early nursed that feeling, which grew 
stronger and more irritable every day. Of all the rank- 
ling pains which a human heart can experience, that of 
envy, is, next to remorse, the most painful. It has not the 
dignity of anger, it receives not the sympathy which grief 
excites, and it must not be acknowledged even to ourselves, 
for the meanest of mankind might despise himself for feel- 
ing it, and the proudest is degraded by a conviction that 
there lives another in whom anything appears superior to 
himself. 

Matilda continued to talk with vivacity and humor during 
the continuance of their drive, though she could not but ob- 
serve with surprise the peevish, consequential expression 
which her cousin’s countenance gradually assumed ; for lit- 
tle did she imagine that Eleanor already looked upon her as 
a rival for admiration among the guests now assembled at 
Barnard Castle, and that her mind was occupied in planning 
every expedient by which her companion might be kept in 
the background and mortified into silence and obscurity 
during the following week. While Matilda’s heart, there- 
fore, glowed with every amiable and affectionate emotion 
towards her cousin, and while her spirits were buoyant with 
anticipated pleasure, it was fortunate for her own happiness 
that she could not, on the present occasion, see “ that hide, 
ous sight, a naked human heart.” 


104 


MODERN SOCIETY. 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ Dropping buckets into empty wi 11s, 

And growing old in drawing nothing up.” 

“ Ah ! Lady Susan Danvers is arrived !” cried Eleanor, 
as the carriage slowly turned round a broad sheet of gravel 
which expanded before the house ; “ there she is. as gay and 
fine as a perfumer’s wig-block, staring out of the window. 
How Mr. Grant made me laugh yesterday with an account 
of her travels abroad, when she refused to marry ever so 
many ex-kings, counts, and cardinals ! Poor Lady Susan is 
so frequently invited to second-rate Edinburgh parties, on 
account of her rank being ornamental, that he means to sug- 
gest a plan for her being let out by the job, and turning an 
honest penny by it. In ordinary dress she is worth so much 
— in diamonds and feathers double the price ; but when she 
keeps her father’s coroneted carriage waiting at the door, 
she deserves any money.” 

“ It is said that, in Mrs. Glass’s Receipt Book, or Hints 
on Etiquette, I forget which, you may find a prescription 
for assembling the most agreeable dinner-party imaginable. 
Get a lawyer to talk, a beauty to excite interest, a traveller 
to tell stories, and a peer to give it eclat ; but, by your ac- 
count, Lady Susan might serve in nearly all these capacities 
at once.” 

“So she does! For instance, Lady Montague, our op- 
posite neighbor, gives only three dinners in a season, which 
take place on three days running ; so my great amusement 
is to watch her party arriving. The first day, a coronet is 
emblazoned on every pannel ; the second day, gentlemen’s 
carriages arrive with only supporters ; and the third day, 
nothing is to be seen but hackney-coaches full of poor re- 
lations ; but I was amused to observe, that Lady Susan is 
always present at the whole of them, first to be pleased her- 
self at the great party, and then that she may give dignity 
to the inferior ones.” 

A perfect uproar of joy took place between Eleanor and 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


105 


her newly-arrived visitor when they met, and the barking 
of lapdogs was scarcely louder or more vociferous than the 
clamor of their voices while compliments, inquiries, re- 
proaches, and protestations of regard were exchanged in 
rapid and animated succession. A slight bow of recognition 
was all that Lady Susan bestowed upon Miss Howard, fol- 
lowed by that deliberate stare of a cold, examining eye, 
which is, above all inflictions, the most formidable in society 
to a person of sensitive feelings ; therefore, being anxious to 
escape from notice which was so little conciliatory, Matilda 
gracefully returned the acknowledgment, and quietly seated 
herself by the fire. 

“ How very thin you are become, Lady Susan !” exclaimed 
Eleanor, with well-assumed consternation, for she knew that 
her friend lived in perpetual vexation because her embonpoint 
was beyond what suited with any pretentions to young 
ladyism. “ You must be fed up in the Highlands for the 
credit of our mountain air, and not leave Barnard Castle till 
you can scarcely get out at the door.” 

“ Bien obligee ! but you shall positively not make a prize- 
ox of me. I am, as you say, in very good training at pres- 
ent. Not quite reduced enough yet, but very little more 
would satisfy me.” 

“Why, Lady Susan! what more would you have! I 
declare you must be in a rapid consumption already !” 
replied Eleanor, undauntedly fixing her satirical eye on the 
broad expanse of her visitor’s well-rounded figure. “ I once 
died of laughing at the theatre, when a skeleton was brought 
on the stage by Harlequin, who fed it up till the figure 
gradually became corpulent and fattened into a London 
alderman ; but we must try a similar experiment here with- 
out delay, or you will vanish altogether ; so, ladies ! come 
to luncheon, and if you cannot eat with an appetite, you 
may at least eat with a knife and fork.” 

On their return to the drawing-room, Matilda felt as if 
she had become suddenly invisible during a long conversation 
which ensued between Lady Susan Danvers and Eleanor, 
neither of whom seemed to contemplate the probability of 
her assisting the dialogue. It was chiefly carried on soito 
voce , though such parts as she overheard amused and in- 
terested her so much, that, to prevent the appearance of 
being sullen or irritable, she took out some drawing 
materials, and resigned herself to silence, while the others 
sat down in that nothing-particular-to do sort of way in 

5 * 


108 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


which most ladies at country houses pass a large portion ol 
their time. 

<£ Now Miss Fitz-Patrick, pray tell me who I am to meet 
this morning ?” asked Lady Susan, with an air of expecta- 
tion. u The house, you tell me is fuller than it can hold, 
so there are probably twenty odd people at least.” 

“ All our old set are here. Lady Montague, with Ade- 
laide and Mary, who are dull and silent as usual ; they can 
do nothing, you know, but look pretty ; — Mrs. Clifford and 
her three indisposable daughters, who have set up for being 
an c attached family,’ which is the sort of thing I have no 
patience for, one sister taking you aside to praise the other 
in confidence. Colonel Pendarvis of the Blues arrived yes- 
terday, and Sir Colin Fletcher, larger than life.” 

“ Ah, poor Sir Colin ! I was introduced to him several 
years ago, and we have never exchanged a syllable since, but 
he has the trouble of bowing to me almost every day 
when we pass in the street. I owe him a hat for the num- 
ber of times he has taken his off to me ; and if I go to ten 
parties in a night, he is the first person I meet at them all. 
It was impossible to know when one might begin to give up 
the acquaintance, in case of looking as if I had taken some- 
thing amiss, which could not well be, seeing we had no 
intercourse ; but now I shall either improve our intimacy, 
or get up a quarrel, to save the trouble of nodding my head 
like a Chinese mandarian every day.” 

“ Sir Colin gives papa a great deal of additional exercise 
in Edinburgh, for my father invariably rounds the corner of 
the nearest street on catching a glimpse of his portly figure. 
Major Foley of the 10th came here this morning also. He 
is still the Beau Fribble of an old comedy in his dress and 
conversation, with such a look of conscious beauty that I can 
scarcely resist laughing. His face would do best under a 
bonnet, and his curls are so elaborately studied, that every 
hair seems to be on special duty ; yet, in my opinion, your 
cousin Mr. Grant’s head looks ten times better, which always 
seems to have been dressed by accident. Apropos ! I am 
happy to tell you that he is arrived.” 

“ Tom Grant ! !” exclaimed Lady Susan, in a tone of alarm 
and vexation. u I shall leave the house to-morrow ! What 
could possess him to come here at this season ? If I have an 
aversion in the world, it is for him. The most troublesome, 
mischievous, and satirical of human beings, whom it is im 
possible to keep at a distance.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


i<y? 


“ I never heard of any one before who wished to do so ! 
Mr. Grant is universally popular in society j and I am cer- 
tain, if ladies returned a member to Parliament, he would 
be unanimousely elected. But,” continued Eleanor, seeing 
that Lady Susan’s observant eyes were fixed on her with a 
penetrating stare, “ if you have any infallible prescription 
for repulsing forward people, pray furnish me with it in- 
stantly. I am inflicted at present with a guest in this house 
whom no power on earth can possibly affront or dislodge. 
He was an unwelcome visitor here last summer, merely tol- 
erated as an old friend of Sir Philip’s, but nothing could 
convince him that we were not delighted at his arrival and 
inconsolable when he departed. He kept repeatedly prom- 
ising to return, though no one ever asked him, and here he 
is arrived again, with a" thousand apologies for not coming 
sooner, and a promise to make up for that by remaining as 
long as possible. He is more at home than myself, and more 
unwelcome than a rat in a hole ; but I fear that the game- 
keeper, who is engaged to keep down vermin, will scarcely 
rid me of Mr. Armstrong.” 

u Sinbad’s old man of the sea was nothing to this ! Could 
you not have the door of his room locked some night, and 
forget to let him out ?” 

“ I would have tried it, certainly, but you know papa is so 
good-natured, he hates making enemies, and Mr. Armstrong 
adopts a strange way of hinting as if we owed him obliga- 
tions. He has a very mean, sheep-stealiDg look, and proba- 
bly wants to impose some absurd story upon us ; but it can- 
not be endured much longer, for there never was any one so 
tiresome. He sits from morning till night in that Spanish 
chair by the fire, whistling a tune and tattooing on the table ; 
perfectly well dressed, with clean gloves, and so forth, but 
not a thing to do. He neither shoots, nor fishes, nor reads, 
but is forever in the way, always expecting to be spoken to 
and entertained. Why he comes, or when he goes away, no 
one can possibly guess.” 

“ Is he a man of fortune and family?” asked Lady Susan, 
who was never known to omit these two important inquiries 
respecting any gentleman under discussion. 

“ Oh dear, no ! Mr. Armstrong is one of the most re- 
markable men living, in these respects ! He began the 
world with no visible means of existence and no connexions ; 
yet he has lived well and frequented the best company all 
his life. Not a conjecture can be formed what are his re- 


108 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


sources, except that people allege he lives by a curious sort 
of jobbing ; and Mr. Grant assures me that Sir Philip was 
actually sold by him to the picture-dealers abroad. Mr. 
Armstrong had mastered the whole jargon of the trade, 
and he showed off so much fastidious criticism, that my 
grand-uncle became fully impressed with his unimpeachable 
judgment; half the trash in my lumber-room is of his selec- 
tion ; and your cousin tells me there is not a bad picture to be 
got now at Florence, because Sir Philip bought them all up. 
Mr. Armstrong's father was a law-agent in Edinburgh, who 
allowed his son to travel for three years in Italy, after which 
it was expected that the hopeful youth would settle to the 
same profession ; but, when he returned from abroad, with 
his head running on operas and paintings, no consideration 
could confine his soaring spirit to the desk. Accordingly 
his second brother, who had been more judiciously trained 
for business, sat down upon the vacant stool and became a 
pettifogging scribe, who did all sorts of odd jobs for Sir 
Philip, and often managed what he called 1 waff cases ' 1 He 
died suddenly, about a month after my uncle, but without 
leaving any fortune, and his dilettante brother succeeded to 
little more than papers and parchments.” 

“ But here comes my ci-devant governess, whom it is very 
diverting to tease, by pretending that Mr. Armstrong re- 
mains here on her account. To say the truth, she rather 
likes the joke, for you knoio , Lady Susan, that when ladies 
come to be of no particular age, they are pleased with the 
smallest remnant of an admirer, and after thirty we get 
rather into the afternoon of life. Ah, Miss Marabout ! 1 
was talking of you, and Lady Susan is shocked to hear 
what an example of cruelty is set before me in respect to 
my lovers. Poor Mr. Armstrong ! he seemed inconsolable 
at breakfast this morning, and could not eat above three 
muffins. I observed him look exceedingly sentimental 
when he asked you to sweeten his tea, and there was 
something very forbidding in your way of offering him the 
toast. By the way there were some tender messages left for 
you when he walked out to day, whistling as usual the air, 
as far as I could follow it, of ‘ Oh no ! we never mention 
her.’ ” 

Miss Marabout attempted to execute a blush and a sim- 
per on the most approved boarding-school pattern, while she 
looked so exquisitely conscious, that Eleanor, who watched 
her countenance with keen enjoyment, gave Lady Susan a 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


109 


look expressive of satirical humor, very similar to that with 
which she often clandestinely imparted to her governess 
some jest against others which they mutually shared. Ma- 
tilda’s attention was in the mean time diverted from the 
scene before her by a perpetual annoyance from Lady 
Susan’s three little Blenheim spaniels, which were constantly 
fighting or playing under the table where she sat, causing 
such a vibration as occasionally threatened the total over- 
throw of her drawing materials, till at length one of them 
began barking so violently that further conversation became 
utterly impossible. 

11 Excuse me, Miss Howard,” said Lady Susan, affectedly, 
“ my darling Tiny cannot bear to be looked at.” 

“ What a modest dog !” exclaimed Matilda, unable to help 
laughing; — “ but she is'certainly a great beauty !” 

“ Yes !” said Eleanor, u Tiny has quite the air of a dog of 
fashion, and such a friendly way of putting her paw upon my 
arm, as if she really could speak, and had something confi- 
dential to say.” 

tl Dear little creatures ! they are very attaching ! Posi- 
tively, Tiny becomes so melancholy during my absence that 
Dentelle and I take it by turns now to remain at home from 
church on alternate Sundays that she may not be dull.” 

A long conversation ensued between the two friends on 
the good qualities of their respective pets, while innumerable 
anecdotes were told of their sagacity and affection. Dogs, 
long since deceased, were remembered and deplored with 
melancholy regret, and the infirmities and distempers of 
others still living were described and lamented, with expres- 
sions of interest and pity which might have been applied to 
their dearest friends in similar circumstances. The medical 
treatment of their complaints was anxiously considered, the 
variety of their tastes discussed, and many unpleasant en- 
durances they each boasted of having put up with from the 
canine race, which would have caused a fellow-creature to be 
banished with disgust from their sitting-rooms. In short, it 
appeared as if the two ladies had formed a conspiracy to 
render dogs at least equal to mankind, if not superior. Be- 
fore the endless subject seemed more than begun, the door 
suddenly opened, and a head appeared, exhibiting an expres- 
sion of laughing animation which Murillo might have vainly 
attempted to copy. 

u I must pay my devoirs to Lady Susan ! How is my 
pretty cousin Mary ? Have you forgiven me our last ren- 


no 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


contre ?”■ — cried Mr. Grant, not advancing a step. M Nc 
answer? then I must decamp, for the most agreeable person- 
age in the world is a certain lady in good humor, who is the 
very reverse otherwise.” 

u Come in,” replied Lady Susan ; u you are not one that 
it is prudent to quarrel with, so we must endeavor to endure 
you.” 

“ ‘ For better and for worse V But I dare not come for- 
ward yet ! We are over head and ears in mud — a famous 
run — fifteen miles straight across the country, and killed 
near Dewkesbury lane.” 

u Do advance, and tell me all about it,” said Eleanor, im- 
patiently. <£ What are you afraid of ?” 

“ A charge from the whole troop of housemaids, com- 
manded by old Mrs. Gordon,” answered Mr. Grant, ap- 
proaching on tiptoe : i: if she knew of my being here in this 
plight, her good opinion of me would be forfeited forever ; 
and I have it upon authority that she was heard to pronounce 
my panegryic as a very safe person in the house, never ele- 
vating my feet on the sofas nor passing any one of her innu- 
merable mats without doing homage.” 

“ I like to see poor Mrs. Gordon’s esprit du corps ,” said 
Matilda. u She makes as great a commotion about the mark 
of a footstep on the staircase as ever Robinson Crusoe did 
when he traced one on the sand.” 

“ I met with a curious specimen of professional enthusiasm 
from my maid when we last came from London in the steam- 
boat,” said Lady Susan. “ We had a perfect storm — the 
sea running mountains high — the sails no larger than pocket- 
handkerchiefs — two men lashed to the helm ” 

“ Yes !” interrupted Mr. Grant; “ and the ladies quite 
fatigued working at the pumps.” 

“ Quite sublime, and extremely terrifying, I assure you, 
when my maid rushed into the cabin, staggering with the 
motion, and scarcely able to stand, while she grasped in her 
hand a new cap which she entreated me to put on instantly. 
Almost be.wildered at her earnestness, I asked why she 
wished it. ‘ Oh, my lady !’ was her reply, 1 we are all going 
to the bottom, and I wish you to be a decent corpse .’ ” 

“ That reminds me of our last meeting, Lady Susan ! It 
really turned out a better joke than could have been antici- 
pated !” said Mr. Grant with a laugh of exquisite enjoyment. 
“ You were a little short-sighted that day.” 

“ Now, Mr. Grant ! I see you are dying to be asked for 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


Ill 


the story, so pray give it us without delay,” cried Eleanor 
eagerly. 

u With all the pleasure in life, if I can only get leave! 
Your last head-dress , Lady Susan ! The scold was enough 
to l faire les cheveux dresser a la tele.’ ” 

11 This is evidently a narrative founded on fiction ,” said 
Matilda, pitying the alarm and irritation which w r ere visible 
iu the lady’s countenance. We shall perhaps read it in 
the next number of Hood’s Comic Annual, illustrated by 
Cruikshanks.” 

“ Thank you for the hint, Miss Howard !” exclaimed Mr. 
Grant. u I protest it would do admirably ! In the first 
page, I shall be represented storming with indignation at 
Gianetti, the hair-dresser’s, because no one had appeared in 
the shop to supply my wants. Then my good cousin is seen 
slowly ascending the steps. I instantly dart round to the 
opposite side of the counter, throw off my hat, tie on a stray 
apron which happened to be there, and prepare to obey or- 
ders ; but instead of being asked, in dulcet tones, for a bot- 
tle of Smith’s lavender water or of Howland’s Kalydor, 
which were all that, in the innocence of my heart, I ever 
dreamt of any young lady wanting at a perfumer’s, there 
burst out upon me such a discovery, and, though it was not 
intended for me, such a scold !” 

“ You deserved it, and ten times more ! I never heard 
of anything so atrocious !” exclaimed Eleanor, in pretended 
indignation. “ Mr. Grant, you are so fond of odd tricks, 
that no one ever knows, when you are in the room, whether 
their heads are their own or not.” 

“ The hair on their heads, you mean,” whispered Mr. 
Grant, aside, while his cousin was angrily endeavoring to seem 
occupied with her dogs. u Lady Susan, you know I am your 
best friend, and nothing promotes a good understanding 
among relations half so much as when they have a joke be- 
tween them.” 

“ If a joke is a good one, I enjoy it beyond anything, but 
there appears to me very little humor in this !” 

“ I see a great deal of good-humor in it,” replied Mr. 
Grant, looking slyly at Lady Susan’s irritated countenance. 
“ The unfortunate friseur made a A&tr-breadth ’scape, and 1 
was terrified odt of my few remaining senses, 

‘ This put Mr. Frog in a terr'.ble fright, 

He took up his hat, and he wished them good night.' 


112 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


Now, pray forgive me, lady Susan, for it makes me wretch- 
ed when we quarrel, considering all the obligations I owe 
you.” 

“ Obligations !” exclaimed Lady Susan, in a tone of per- 
plexity ; “ what may that be ?” 

u Have you really forgotten your kindness to me when I 
was a little boy ? Don’t you remember all the sugar-plums 
you gave me, and that whip with a red handle, and a whistle 
at the end of it ?” 

“I recollect nothing of the kind ! You have a most fer- 
tile imagination, Mr. Grant ! but if we may judge of the boy 
from the man, you certainly deserved the whip, whether you 
ever got it or not.” 

Mr. Grant put his hand to his face with a contortion of 
pain, as if he really had suffered the lash, and retreated to- 
wards a window. 

“ Ah ! here are Dr. and Miss Murray arriving ! how glad 
I shall be to meet them both ! It does my eyes good to see 
such excellent people, and he is the only clever man I ever 
liked. One cannot expect above once in a century to see 
such a person !” 

If Eleanor had been formerly disposed to venerate this 
truly good man, she felt still more impressed with a sense 
of his excellence, from the sincerity and warmth with which 
Mr. Grant expressed himself, and her beautiful countenance 
glowed with animation as she hastened forward to meet her 
guests. 

“ So you have ventured to see me at last, Dr. Murray ! 
We thought you were never coming back ; and if there had 
been no other way of prevailing on you to return, I meant 
to personate a rheumatic old woman, and send, in her name, 
an ill-spelt letter, requesting an interview, knowing how 
seldom you pay visits, except in charity. Miss Murray, I 
stopped at your gate this morning, and admired prodigiously 
all the improvements which are going on there. You are 
doing a vast deal to embellish the house and gardens.” 

u I see many great changes going on here, too.” 

“ Ah ! in my small way" replied Eleanor. 

li Small ! ! !” exclaimed her simple-hearted visitor, in 
amazement. 

“ Yes, Miss Fitz-Patrick you are right,” said Dr. Mur- 
ray, who perfectly understood the pride which was veiled 
under an affected humility. “ In scenes of such natural 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


113 


gplendor and magnitude as these, ‘ what is man V We are 
but insects scratching on the beautiful face of nature.” 

“ Or like the fly on the coach-wheel, saying, ‘ What a dust 
I raise !* ” added Mr. Grant. 

“ A modern author gives the same idea in very striking 
language,” said Dr. Murray. “ 1 Take some quiet sober mo- 
ment of life,’ he says, £ and add together the two ideas of 
pride and of man ; add them, if you can, without a smile. 
Behold him a creature of a span high, strutting in infinite 
space, and darting disdain from his eyes, in all the grandeur 
of littleness. Perched on a little speck of the universe, he 
is rolled along the Heavens through a road of worlds, while 
systems and creations are flaming above and beneath ; he is 
an atom of atoms. Yet will this miserable creature revel in 
his greatness, and mock at his fellow, sprung from that same 
dust to which they both shall soon return.’ ” 

“ Very striking indeed !” observed Eleanor, turning heed- 
lessly to Mr. Grant. “ It is curious that we never apply 
any remark to ourselves, for all the time Dr. Murray has 
been speaking, 1 could not but wish that the most high and 
mighty Sir Alfred Douglas had benefited by such a lecture 
on humility. I am told that, at parties abroad, he sometimes 
drew up to his full height, and looked as if he meant to kick 
the universe from under his feet.” 

‘‘Wait till you know him as well as I do, Miss Fitz- 
Patrick, and then you may believe all those ridiculous sto- 
ries if you can ” 

“ I hope the state-room is ordered to be in readiness,” 
said Lady Susan, wishing to tease Mr. Grant, who had a 
perfect enthusiasm for Sir Alfred. “ It used to be alleged 
that he complained of catching cold while airing all the best 
beds in every house, because, somehow or other, no one ever 
thought of placing him in any except their principal rooms.” 

I beg his pardon, then ; but no such hardships are pre- 
pared for him here.” 

“ How well I know the sort of lodgings which are reserved 
for stray gentlemen in some country houses,” observed Mr. 
Grant, laughing. “ If there be a cracked basin or a darned 
towel on the establishment, the housekeeper is heard to say, 
‘ That may do for the bachelors’ rooms !’ and wherever there 
exists an apartment with its only window in the ceiling, or 
a mirror that distorts your face like a paralytic stroke, it 
falls to our share. At Clanpibroch Castle, the doors are all 
in a row, and so exactly alike, that I hung my visiting-card 


114 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


on the handle at last, to prevent the intrusion, by mistake, 
of half-a-dozen single gentlemen successively, who all lodged 
on the same floor, and used to catch me arranging my last 
head-dress , Lady Susan.” 

A lively dialogue ensued between Eleanor and Mr. Grant, 
during which Matilda enjoyed some interesting conversation 
with Dr. Murray ; but Miss Fitz-Patrick at length remem- 
bered that it was her intention to fascinate her newly-arrived 
guests completely ; so, breaking through her cousin’s inter- 
view without ceremony, she called them to accompany her 
in the usual routine of a tour round the cabinets, conserva- 
tories, china, books, and pictures. Dr. Murray followed, 
with the same feeling of good-humored indulgence which 
would have led him to testify an interest in the toys of some 
pleasing, wayward child whom he wished to conciliate, but 
yet in his remarks there appeared that perfect judgment and 
good taste which characterized all he ever said. 

“ You have never been here since my ancesters were all 
hung , Dr. Murray,” observed Eleanor, smiling defiance to 
Matilda, who gravely shook her head, and resumed her 
drawing, for the heiress had actually executed her threat by 
giving them new names. “ Poor Sir Philip used to boast 
that his family never had a beginning and never would have 
an end ; but that only reminds one now of the old epitaph — 

1 Here lies the Laird of Lundie. 

Sic transit gloria mundi !’ ” 

“ How very unfortunate it was,” remarked Miss Murray, 
“ that he left no family.” 

“ Excuse me there ! I am far from agreeing with you,” 
said Eleanor, much diverted. “ This is Lord — Lord Dum- 
bartonshire, who was killed at Culloden. The name seems 
to be written in gilt letters below the left arm. My great- 
grandfather, you know.” 

“ His uniform does not belong to a Scotch regiment.” 
observed Dr. Murray, fixing his thoughtful eyes on her 
countenance ; “ there must surely be some mistake. That 
inscription, too, is quite modern.” 

“As for the dress, artists long ago never thought of at- 
tending to that; they carried about figures ready painted, 
and added the head of any one who sat. A lady with 
shoulders up to her ears, and her waist like an alderman’s 
wife, might choose the form of a sylph, and my great- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


115 


grandfather probably preferred the uniform of the Guards 
to his own.” 

“ I admire truth and accuracy in everything,” said Dr 
Murray, passing on to inspect the succeeding pictures. 

“ They are vastly genteel,” said Miss Murray, in a com* 
plaisant tone. “ This is Queen Mary, I suppose, or Cleo- 
patra?” 

“No! that is Lord Ben-Nevis’s second wife! I cannot 
reqollect her name.” 

“ LoAy Ben-Nevis , I suppose,” replied Miss Murray. 

“ Now, who could have told you that !” cried Mr. Grant, 
unable to help laughing at her simplicity. “ But, Miss Fitz- 
Patrick, there is some blunder here, for Lord Ben-Nevis 
was only married once.” 

“ Indeed you are mistaken — he lost two wives at least .’ 1 

“ He may have lost as many as you please, but I am cer- 
tain he never married above one.” 

You genealogists are all so obstinate 1 This picture 
must have been done for somebody, and it is as likely to 
have been a Lady Ben-Nevis as any one else. That is old 
Lady Betty, who was the greatest beauty of her time, but 
the picture formerly served as a target for Sir Philip to shoot 
at when he was a boy. so one eye and the nose were gone ; 
but when we were in Edinburgh last I sat to M'Tnnes, and 
had my own substituted, which looks just as well, so now 
you will allow she is handsomer than ever. Lady Betty 
made what was then thought a misalliance in marrying Lord 
de Mainbury’s grandfather.” 

ct Had he really a grandfather?” asked Mr. Grant, in- 
credulously. 

“ So it is reported ! and I have heard that when Mr. de 
Mainbury married my great-aunt, he desired a coach-maker 
to send pattern coats of arms, that he might choose what 
looked best.” 

“ Two salmon rampant for supporters, of course, as all 
his wealth is derived from fisheries. Three sprats gules, 
and for the crest a cod’s head and shoulders.” 

“ How I hate people to be satirical !” said Eleanor, laugh- 
ing. “ Here is a picture I wish to have the public opinion 
upon. Lady Susan, we all know what a connoisseur you 
are considered, ever since that week you spent at Borne ; 
tell me then if this is a tolerable daub or not ?” 

The lady in question seemed pleased at this reference 


116 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


and rolling up a sheet of paper in the form of a telescope, 
she gazed through it with all the air of an acknowledged 
critic. 

“ There are some good bits of color here, hut the outline is 
defective, and not enough of distance preserved. These tints 
are scarcely forcible enough, too ; but that is a very e’ever 
mountain in the back-ground, and this light is well brought 
out. Altogether it wants breadth.” 

u I see plenty of breadth ,” interrupted Eleanor, slyly direct- 
ing her eye towards Lady Susan’s own figure ; but there 
is rather a deficiency, I should say, of depth” 

11 Do you advise Miss Fitz-Patrick to sit for her likeness 
to the artist who painted this, for I know she has thoughts 
of doing it?” asked Mr. Grant, looking so arch that Matilda 
felt sure he was devising mischief. “ The young man is now 
in this house, touching up some of those portraits, and we 
think him a promising genius, seeing his imitation of the 
antique so excellent.” 

u Tolerable !” replied Lady Susan in a very dubious tone, 
t£ but his painting wants relief! the composition is not correct. 
There is no poetry here ! as for genius, the less we say about 
that the better. Pray, Miss Fitz-Patrick, never think of 
trusting your countenance to such a mere plasterer.” 

“ Lady Susan, you are ruined forever,” cried Mr. Grant 
in an ecstasy of delight — “ Why that is Vandyke’s famous 
picture of the Sleeping Nymph ! Did you never hear that 
Sir Philip paid £1000 for it? Oh Lady Susan ! unfortu- 
nate Lady Susan !” 

“ Dr. Murray! you are admiring nature instead of art now. 
Is that view not magnificent !” said Eleanor, following him 
to a distant window. “ Each of these prospects is different, 
and appears like a landscape handsomely framed. I have 
opened the plantation westwards, that we may see the sun 
setting every night behind that hill of Benachscrocholet. 
Now, do observe how completely I have mastered the Gaelic 
pronunciation ! You will see me become quite a Highland 
chief! but I cannot yet get seasoned to your northern blasts. 
They kill me outright, and make me appear like a perfect 
heathen, for I can so seldom venture to church. All those 
country kirks are so damp that Miss Marabout and I catch 
cold every time w4 venture there. When the weather re- 
forms, so shall I.” 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick !” said Dr. Murray, with mild but im- 
pressive earnestness. u Pardon me if I estimate my profes- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


117 


sional privileges too highly ; but believing as I do that a 
sacred duty is imposed on me towards yourself, and seeing 
that hitherto no opportunity has been allowed me of dis 
charging it, I venture to say a few words, trusting that they 
may be received as they are intended, in all sincerity and 
kindness. You are now in the morning of such a bright and 
prosperous existence, that amidst the splendors of a scene 
like this, it is less to be wondered at, if you are so ready to 
confess indifference towards those ordinances which remind 
us of another and a better state. We are now contemplating 
the portraits of those who long since lived, and felt, 'and acted 
in these very chambers, and who called those distant hills 
their own. Each of them has been summoned away, carry- 
ing no possession along with him but the riches which he 
may have wisely laid up for himself. They were stewards 
here, not proprietors, and they are gone to give an account 
of their stewardship. You are appointed for a time to the 
same office ; but in a few short years, while yet those glorious 
scenes of nature continue to proclaim their Maker’s hand, 
and to shine as brightly as before, these walls will resound 
with the mirth of other voices, and you and I shall each be 
withdrawn forever, and called to our solemn reckoning. 
You have been selected, Miss Fitz-Patrick, by the Master 
whom I serve to be an object of His peculiar bounty ; and 
in placing you thus conspicuously, as a city set on a hill, and 
in gifting you with all that might add personal to family 
influence, He will expect of the ten talents committed to your 
care a very faithful and a very awful reckoning.” 

Dr. Murray continued to address Eleanor for some time 
with all that could touch her feelings, on the duties and re- 
sponsibilities of the present life, and finished with a solemn 
appeal to the fears and the hopes for eternity, which stand 
in awful contrast before the Christian mind. “ Consider, 
my young friend,” said he, in conclusion, “ that we perish 
not like blossoms that flutter and disappear in the autumn 
breeze ; but that ours is a destiny more permanent, and, if 
we will, more glorious than that of the perpetual stars in the 
firmament above ; do not then think it a trifling considera- 
tion wffiich may be lightly set aside, whether you are prepar- 
ing to spend those eternal ages in hopeless repentance, or in 
a degree of felicity which eye hath not seen, and the heart 
of man has never been able to conceive.” 

Eleanor’s color rose while Dr. Murray addressed her in 
tones of impressive interest. Her look became downcast, 


118 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


her eyes filled with tears, the proud, consequential aspect of 
her countenance gradually subsided into an expression of 
softness, and she silently gave him her hand. 

“ Can you, Miss Fitz-Patrick, amongst a multitude of flat- 
terers, suffer one faithful, uncompromising friend V 1 contin- 
ued he, earnestly. u I feel myself the appointed guardian 
of each individual in this widely-extended parish ; and it 
would be well if I might occasionally speak the words of 
truth and soberness to her whose influence and example will 
have such weight among the objects of my continual solici- 
tude and prayers.” 

“ I once had such a friend as you describe,” replied Eleanor, 
in a tone of unusual sensibility. “ I still need one, Dr. Mur- 
ray, and though the blessing was not sufficiently valued for 
inerly, let us hope that now I may prove deserving of it.” 

Eleanor believed herself sincere in saying this, and to a 
certain extent she was. Deeply impressed by the glowing 
eloquence of his manner, and conscious of Dr. Murray’s ex- 
alted character, she had long desired the esteem of one whose 
regard was indeed an honor, since it could be acquired by 
nothing but personal worth. While he laid before her the 
utter insignificance of all earthly distinctions, she felt for the 
moment as if they had vanished from her affections, and as 
if she might yet learn to view them in due subservience to 
the will and to the service of her Maker. A deep conviction 
rushed into her mind of the inability which she had recently 
felt to derive happiness or peace from the fullest indulgence 
of every vain and extravagant inclination ; and the contrast 
forced itself upon her thoughts between Matilda’s serenity 
and cheerfulness in every changing scene, while her own 
bosom was agitated with torturing emotions of envy and 
worldly ambition. The ennui and weariness which she had 
suffered in the absence of any object sufficiently important to 
occupy her whole desires, now recurred to her recollection 
with irresistible conviction ; and while Dr. Murray pursued 
his subject with rising energy, it seemed to Eleanor’s mind 
as if she were gradually awakening from a stormy dream, 
and that peace, like moonlight on the face of the w T aters, had 
again revisited her bosom. But the world does not thus 
easily lose hold of its votary. Many a struggle takes place 
before it has been sufficiently weighed in the balance to be 
found wanting. Many a tear of penitence is shed before we 
feel that repentance which shall never need to be repented 
of. Many a resolution formed, before divine grace is sought 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


no 


to render it permanent. Who has not experienced the pow- 
erful effects of eloquent preaching on his own heart, render- 
ing every desire and every pursuit that might seem likely 
to oppose the stream of exhortation like straws on the tide ; 
but while yet only descending the steps which lead from the 
altar, his holy dispositions have been put to sleep, his good 
intentions dispersed, and the seriousness of his thoughts ex- 
changed for all that levity and forgetfulness in which he has 
long indulged? It was thus with Eleanor. She seemed to 
have gazed for a moment through the telescope of faith, and 
with startling vividness to have brought eternity close to 
her eye, but in a moment she looked around and all was 
forgotten 


120 


MODERN SOCIETY. 


CHAPTER X. 


Ere triflers half their wish obtain, 

The toiling pleasure sickens into pain. 

Goldsmith. 


“Miss Fitz-Patrick!” cried Lady Susan Danvers, in a 
tone of girlish vivacity, “ do come this way and look at the 
sportsmen galloping home across the park. They resemble 
a field of scarlet poppies in a breeze of wind !” 

“Strike me poetical! — what brilliant simile was that?” 
exclaimed Mr. Grant, taking out his pocket-book and pen- 
cil ; “ I must make a memorandum of it for my next publi- 
cation — puppies did you say ?” 

“ Well, Miss Fitz-Patrick, Sir Richard gave me a capital 
mount ! the horse as quiet as an old cow,” said Mr. Arm- 
strong, entering with the other gentlemen, and putting him- 
self first. “ Here I am, returned on your hands like a bad 
shilling !” 

“So I think!” replied Eleanor, dryly. “We must en- 
deavor to pass you as soon as possible.” 

“ I suppose your subscription to the hounds was paid in 
advance to-day, Mr. Armstrong?” asked Mr. Grant, gravely. 
“We generally expect it to be so from strangers.” 

“ Subscription ! ! — what do you mean, sir?” 

“You don’t say that the master of the hounds let you 
join without first settling with him !” replied Mr. Grant, 
assuming an air of well-feigned astonishment. “ Any one 
going out for a day is considered the same as a whole 
season. You are free of the pack now, but I can tell you 
there is no getting off without tabling the money — fifty 
guineas.” 

“ But a stranger , who is leaving the country in a few 
days ,” interposed Eleanor, “ could scarcely be asked to give 
such a sum. I shall speak to papa myself, Mr. Armstrong, 
and tell him that, as you go so very soon ” 

“ Ah ! the sooner the better, if you wish to evade the sub* 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


121 


scription,” added Mr. Grant. “ It will be sent for, probably, 
1 should think, on Saturday next.” 

“ I shall neither leave the place, nor pay any such exac- 
tion,” said Mr. Armstrong, stubbornly seating himself on 
the Spanish chair. No trifle of that kind would make me 
disappoint my friends when I have once promised to stay 
with them ; and all the hounds in Britain will not drive 
me out of this snug corner, while I continue to be as wel- 
come and as comfortable as I am now.” 

“ Ah, Major Foley!” cried Eleanor, turning away with a 
grimace of chagrin ; “ how do you do ?” 

“ How do I do ! — always well when I am near Miss Fitz- 
patrick.” 

“ Colonel Pendarvis ! you were reported among the killed 
and wounded in a desperate leap over my new enclosure at 
Wolfdean this morning. Did you know that Major Foley 
was the original Snob mentioned in the Quarterly Jteview ? 
— it is an undeniable likeness, so he cannot disown it.” 

“I never disown anything!” replied the Major. “If 
you were to allege that Lord Byron’s Corsair was meant for 
me, or the Stout Gentleman, I should be equally ready to 
personate either character that 'pleases you.” 

“ Not the Stout Gentleman ! we have him already ; — and 
here he comes ; I know the creaking of his boots at any dis 
tance,” said Eleanor, darting her satirical eye at Lord Al- 
derby, who entered a moment afterwards. “ What an ad- 
mirable horse yours is, my lord, for a light weight ! — he 
seems very spirited too. I have read in the Morning Post, 
these many years past, an advertisement for a horse to carry 
a £ heavy, timid gentleman.’ Can anybody tell me who he 
is, or if there is more than one 1 ?” 

“ I’ve seen thousands at Melton !” said Major Foley ; “ the 
moment a man gets heavy he becomes timid. I ride exactly 
ten stone eight myself.” 

“In that case, it is less a compliment to you than to Al- 
derby or Fletcher, when Miss Fitz-Patrick remarks, as she 
often does, that you are all worth your weight in gold.” said 
Mr. Grant. 

“ I wish we all had it !” cried Colonel Pendarvis. “ I am 
sure any one might read half-pay engraved on my forehead, 
but none of you will take half price for my hunters. Foley, 
it is too bad of you asking such a price for Flare-up, when 
everybody knows I am a soldier of fortune, meaning a sol- 
dier of no fortune at all, and that I positively cannot afford 

C 


122 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


it. You should be more considerate towards a brother 
officer.” 

“ Colonel ! I perceive you want to out- General me in our 
negotiation : but it won’t do !” 

“Are you parting with Flare-up, Major Foley?” said 
Eleanor, reproachfully. “ I remember being so sorry last 
year, when Sir Francis let you have his beautiful chestnut, 
and to-day Lady Susan was remarking that you looked al- 
most handsome upon her.” 

“ Pendarvis ! the bargain is off! she would be cheap at a 
thousand pounds if Miss Fitz-Patrick admires her. I flat- 
ter myself we did make a pretty good appearance on the 
field this morning !” 

“ Then you do flatter yourself prodigiously,” interrupted 
Mr. Grant. “ Apropos of bargains, Pendarvis, let me tell 
you how famously I once did Sir Colin out of a good mount, 
— he can’t overhear us, does he ? It is the only good story 
Fletcher never attempts to tell. We were out with the 
Galewood hounds, and I was on that slow, stumbling bay of 
mine that you must remember — ‘ Dapper 5 we called him, 
on account of his clumsy proportions. Latterly it was his 
custom, the instant he was spurred, to drop down on his 
knees. Well! Fletcher was riding past on Firefly, when I 
stopped him and remarked what an extraordinary instinct 
my hunter had, for he pointed at game like a dog ! Sir 
Colin was, of course, incredulous at first, but as I had pri- 
vately observed a covey of partridges near, I turned acci- 
dentally that way, and when we came near them applied my 
spurs. Down dropped Dapper, and up rose the partridges, 
so the thing no longer admitted of a doubt. The old gen- 
tleman was instantly frantic to buy the horse on any terms ; 
so I agreed to an immense price, without, of course, intend- 
ing to exact it, but one condition was, that we should imme- 
diately exchange steeds. This he was delighted to do, being 
impatient to try the powers of his recent acquisition. Soon 
after we reached a stream — Dapper attempted to drink, and 
Sir Colin spurred him on — so, as usual, he fell on his knees, 
in the water, while I galloped off in triumph, exclaiming, 
1 Holloa ! Fletcher ! that’s a salmon V ” 

“ Lord de Mainbury,” said Eleanor, “ how many foxes were 
put out of their misery to-day ?” 

“ Only one ! we set off the second time with a fine burst 
over the hill of Benachray, skirted Glenalpine for several 


OR THE MARCH OE INTELLECT. 


123 


miles, and lost scent at Boghill ; so the hounds did not find 
again all day.” 

“ They had no nose, owing to the damp ground,” added 
Mr. Grant. 44 It was all that the huntsman could do to pre* 
vent them going in full cry through Gaelfield, after the little 
brown spaniel which followed Lady Susan’s carriage.” 

“ Surely they would not have attacked her?” cried she, in 
accents of horror and alarm. 44 Poor dear Tiny ! impossible !” 

44 Depend upon it they would have discussed her in the 
twinkling of a bed-post,” answered Mr. Grant ; 44 hounds will 
attack anything ! Did you never hear that a pack in Ireland 
once devoured an old woman ?” 

44 They could only be Irish hounds to commit such a blun- 
der !” said Eleanor, laughing 

44 How very sad,” observed Miss Murray. 44 People should 
not hunt if such things are likely to happen.” 

44 I hope the whole pack was hanged !” exclaimed Lady 
Susan, indignantly. 

44 Riders included ? we should have all deserved it if 4 dear 
Tiny’ had suffered to-day,” replied Mr. Grant, watching his 
cousin’s angry countenance. 44 She had a narrow escape.” 

44 I don’t believe a word of it ! — you are in jest ! Now do 
not play upon my feelings, but tell me truly, was dearest 
Tiny in real danger ?” 

44 Imminent, I assure you ! Hounds are known to kill 
dogs sometimes, and cats often. I have observed an old 
woman, spectacles on nose, knitting at her cottage-door, with 
poor puss purring by her side — quite a pastoral scene — and 
the hounds have made a meal of her before we could- cry 
4 Tally-ho.’ ” 

44 Of the old woman ?” exclaimed Miss Murray, in accents 
of consternation.” 

44 To be sure !” interposed Eleanor, preventing Mr. Grant 
from setting her right. 44 Nothing was left but the knitting- 
pins and spectacles, which I have seen frequently. Are they, 
by good chance, in your pocket, Mr. Grant ?” 

44 De Mainbury ! I remember well what an escape you 
once made at Beverley,” said Sir. Richard. 44 Having out- 
stripped the whole field, and come in for the death, you dis- 
mounted to secure the brush, and were exercising your whip 
in fine style, when suddenly the hounds left the fox, and 
turned upon you! A minute more would have done the 
business ! When I came up with the huntsman, two or three 
tfere already at your throat, and once down, there could have 


124 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


been no escape. I never desire to see any one in such a pro 
dicament again !” 

“ That reminds me of a story which was told many years 
ago,” began Sir Colin Fletcher, in a slow, methodical tone, 
which gained little attention from the lively circle around. 
“ It seemed, you understand, as far as I could ascertain, to 
be very authentic ; at least the circumstances were never 
satisfactorily contradicted ; and though I have told them 
frequently in many companies, there is seldom any one to be 
met with who has not heard the incidents already, which 
proves how universally they must be credited. Many of the 
party here may know the particulars, yet ” 

“ Pendarvis !” said Mr. Grant, breaking through Sir Colin’s 
endless preface. “ What could induce you to let that fat 
farmer ride ahead of you all day ! His horse’s heels must 
have laved the mud into your very face. I see him now, in 
my mind’s eye, riding on the horse’s neck, and pommelling 
his flanks with a monstrous pair of spurs. Hid any one ever 
see such a moving mountain !” 

“ If a house had stood in his way, he would have knocked 
it over,” added the Colonel. “ I believe he had fifteen falls 
to-day.” 

“ As for Foley,” continued Mr. Grant, “ he goes to cover 
in review order, and the first splash on his boots sends him 
home.” 

“You call yourself a sportsman, Grant!” retorted the 
Major ; “ but I appeal to Sir llichard, whether this was the 
proper order of precedence, as I saw it to-day : The fox first, 
our friend here following, and the hounds last !” 

u Foley ! name your place and hour !” said Mr. Grant, 
joining in the laugh. “ But here comes Sir Alfred Douglas, 
Bart., of Douglas Priory — M. P. that shall be. The most 
distant roll of his chariot-wheels has something so aristocratic 
in the sound, that I cannot be mistaken.” 

“ I remember once being told that Pope Clement, or In- 
nocent the Fifteenth, issued a bull, setting forth that the 
American Indians were to be considered human beings,” 
said Eleanor ; “ but from all I hear, it would be desirable if 
his Holiness were alive now, to remind Sir Alfred that there 
are others of the same species as himself.” 

“ Has he really become so proud ?” asked Miss Murray. 
“ It seems but yesterday when I remember him such a sweet, 
clever little boy.” 

“ Fancy Douglas a sweet little boy, with a rattle and red 


Oil THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


125 


shoes! That could never have been possible! He must have 
been born old ,” said Mr. Grant; 11 but never believe anything 
you hear of Sir Alfred, Miss Murray, and only half what you 
see , for there is no man on earth less understood.” 

u I can only say that he is the finest speaker in public, and 
the scantiest talker in private, that I know. He and I never 
hit it together at all,” observed Major Foley, arranging his 
favorite curl at the looking-glass. u Nothing could be finer, 
or more unexpected certainly, than that burst of eloquence 
when he was presented to his constituents. It seemed amaz- 
ing, too, how frankly he declared his sentiments, though not 
very prudent. Considering the divided state of the voters, I 
could have managed to humbug them better, with a very little 
ambiguity and circumlocution, which was all wanting in the 
speech of 3^esterday.” 

“ For a ready answer I would back Sir Alfred against the 
field anywhere,” observed Sir Richard. “ He is sharp and 
short, like a carving-knife.” 

The gentlemen now gathered in a group at the window, 
and entered on an elaborate criticism of the baronet’s four 
posthorses ; for no quadruped that ever entered a stable is 
above or below the attention of sportsmen, who can trace a 
look of decayed grandeur in many an old, broken-down hack, 
and who find entertainment in discussing the points of an 
ancient veteran with scarcely a leg to stand on. 

Meantime Eleanor stole a glance into the mirror — the 
three Miss Cliffords each instinctively altered the position 
of their bonnets — the Miss Montagues closed a scrap-book 
with which they had been occupied — Miss Murray put on 
her spectacles — Lady Susan called all the dogs around her, 
and an air of general expectation prevailed throughout the 
room, while Matilda alone remained externally still ; yet her 
color rose to the most vivid carnation, and she bent more in- 
tently over her drawing, while past emotions rushed into her 
memory with such fresh remembrance, that it seemed but 
yesterday since she had believed herself an object of prefer- 
ence to Sir Alfred. A pang shot through her mind when 
she anticipated that now, probably, like Mr. Grant, he would 
meet her as a comparative stranger ; and so much had been 
said of his pride and reserve, that she neither expected, nor 
very much desired, a renewal of their former intimacy, 
besides that she had now learnt not to hope for better mem- 
ories in her old friends than the habits of society rendered 
prcbable. 


126 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


When the door was thrown open, Sir Richard hastened 
forward, with animated cordiality, to welcome his distim 
guished guest. “ Ha! my good friend ! I rejoice to see you 
here,” cried he, seizing Sir Alfred’s hand, who patiently re- 
signed it to be shaken. “ Any news from town ?” 

The baronet replied in a low, confidential voice, and aftei 
making a distant bow to Eleanor and the other ladies, he 
continued in deep conversation with Sir Richard for a con- 
siderable time, while Matilda quietly took the opportunity to 
make her remarks upon the change which a year had made 
upon his person. Sir Alfred’s dress seemed remarkable for 
nothing but simplicity. His appearance was dignified, but 
the expression of his countenance perfectly frank and open. 
His eyes, large, dark, and intelligent, had an expression in 
them of deep and serious thought, which harmonized well 
with the strongly -marked character of his forehead, and his 
clear, olive complexion had become darkened by the sum- 
mer’s sun of Italy since Matilda last saw him. No studied 
attitudes, nor affected grimaces, betrayed any vanity or lit- 
tleness of mind, but he acted and spoke with a degree of 
calm self-possession which nothing could disturb, while his 
mind became evidently absorbed in whatever subject occu- 
pied his attention at the moment. Matilda looked next at 
Sir Richard, and was amused to observe the contrast, for 
such a rapid variety of expressions flitted across his features 
during the progress of their interview, that she even fancied 
it might be possible to fill up the conversation, when alter- 
nate surprise, incredulity, pleasure, and regret, all appeared 
successively on her uncle’s countenance. The subject evi- 
dently was political, and Sir Richard seemed from the broken 
sentences which Matilda overheard, to be eagerly urging on 
Sir Alfred the necessity for still greater energy in canvass- 
ing the neighborhood. “ Active opponents,” — “ Unfair ad- 
vantages,” — u Crush them at once,” — “ Promises of no 
avail,” — “Public duty,” &c., &c., &c. Sir Alfred’s short, 
decided answers, though they often made Sir Richard laugh, 
seldom appeared to be satisfactory, for he invariably returned 
to the charge with growing animation. Interests of our 
party at hazard,” — “ Pledged to do your utmost,” — u Country 
at stake.” 

“ Sir Richard, what a gentleman can do I shall ; he that 
would do more is none ! Of course public business cannot 
go on without dinners ; but my do-er , as you call him in 
Scotland, had carte blanche to give as many at the King’s 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


127 


Arms as he chose. I hope, therefore, that my free and in- 
dependent constituents have enjoyed abundance of the usual 
fare on these occasions — soiled table-cloths, steel forks, and 
cold lobsters. They shall hear my sentiments on all occa- 
sions without disguise or evasion, clearly and fully stated, 
because there is nothing in them to conceal, but I shall not 
on any account stand up, like a school-boy before his tutors, 
to be catechised.” 

“ Well, I am thankful to have got over much of my life 
in better times than you will ever see again,” observed Sir 
Richard, who was a very mournful politician, though cheer- 
ful on every other subject. u The change is great ! but you 
.young men must conform to the spirit of the age. The 
people require to be propitiated ” 

“ Trust me on that score ! They are like the bear, who 
showed his teeth when the traveller seemed afraid, but when 
a stick was held up he began to dance. We who are ac- 
customed to command, ensure compliance more certainly 
by preserving our tone of authority than by relinquishing it.” 

Sir Richard became outrageous at this reply, and Matilda 
heard a prodigious accession of energy in her uncle’s tone, 
— u Anarchy in the country ! — immediate revolution ! — rally 
round the constitution ! ” 

u Keep all that for the hustings next Friday, Sir Rich- 
ard ; we shall want a little oratory there, and you are wast- 
ing a great deal of good alarm on me, which would do 
admirably for the mob. Depend upon it, no man loses in 
the estimation of even the lowest rabble by keeping up the 
dignity of that station which he is born to fill. It is scarcely 
worth while to be so anxious about anything in this world 
as you wish me to be respecting my election ; but depend 
upon it I shall do my utmost, and moreover get up a speech 
upon any pattern you choose to bespeak for the occasion — 
either neat and appropriate, or eloquent and impassioned.” 

“ Rut is there any truth in that report you told me from 
Downing Street ?” 

£; I never deal in mere reports,” answered Sir Alfred, 
strolling towards the fire. u A man who circulates false news 
should be put to death.” 

“ That would cause an alarming mortality here,” exclaimed 
Mr. Grant. “ How could you furnish conversation, Douglas 1 
for we must talk.” 

“ Je n'en vois pas la necessity ,” replied Sir Alfred. 

“ In fact, a false report often suits my purpose fully betr 


128 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


ter than a true one,” said Mr. Grant, a because I have first 
the advantage of telling it, and then follows the pleasure ot 
contradicting it.” 

“ What shocking profligacy !” interrupted Eleanor. “ No 
wonder Miss Murray stares like an astonished cassowary ! I 
am glad the Doctor is not within ear-shot! We are con- 
tinually hearing marriages announced which are to take 
place immediately, and the next day they are gone off upon 
settlements ; but who ever guessed that they were of your 
counterfeit coinage !” 

“ Many of them are much better arranged than the 
matches people make for themselves! I wish no one would 
ever marry till they have consulted me, for I never saw a 
happy couple yet without thinking that one of the parties 
might have done better.” 

“ I am positively resolved against a sportsman,” said 
Eleanor, “ for it must be tiresome remaining a disconsolate 
widow at home all winter, except during a hard frost. Mem- 
bers of Parliament also shall be blackballed on my list, be- 
cause they annually abscond from their families during the 
greater part of the year.” 

“ I shall endeavor to lose my election,” said Sir Alfred, 
dryly. 

“ It would be much better if you did,” replied Eleanor, 
laughing. a I have so often, during my long experience, been 
disappointed when gentlemen who had a prodigious reputa- 
tion for cleverness got into Parliament, and were expected 
to be great orators ; I generally watch for their maiden 
speeches, expecting a blaze of eloquence, and seldom see more 
than this, ‘An honorable member, whose name we could not 
learn, — Sir Alfred Douglas, we believe, — said a few words, 
which were inaudible under the gallery.’ ” 

Matilda stole a look from her drawing at Sir Alfred, and 
a brilliant smile illuminated her countenance, while she 
watched to discover how he bore he? cousin’s raillery. It 
was instantly evident that he had not been previously aware 
she was present, and that her appearance at Barnard Castle 
was no less interesting than unexpected, for he started, when 
her eyes caught his, made a few hasty steps forward, and ac- 
tually colored with astonishment and pleasure. The next 
moment, however, he suddenly checked himself back again, 
made a distant bow of recognition, and retreated to his for- 
mer station by the fire, though his eyes yet rested on the 
countenance of Matilda Howard, with a sort of fascination 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


129 


which he seemed vainly endeavoring to resist. A natural 
smile dimpled her cheek, and played on her lips for a mo- 
ment, rendering her modest countenance more than usually 
lovely ; for there was always a peculiar beauty in Matilda’s 
smile. Eleanor’s indicated nothing but hilarity, while hers 
was full of sensibility, which was not diminished on the pres- 
ent occasion by the emotion with which she perceived that 
her appearance was not a matter of so much indifference to 
Sir Alfred as she previously anticipated. 

Matilda had not believed it was possible for any event in 
life to cause him so much agitation as he testified at that 
moment, and her own was not less. The flashing glance of 
his eye reminded her of former times, and raised a transient 
belief that he was unchanged, and that she had not been 
mistaken in his former sentiments. Even his sudden retreat 
did not entirely alter her opinion, for Matilda knew that Sir 
Alfred always exercised his own mind in perpetual subjec- 
tion, and entertained a paramount desire to conceal his feel- 
ings from ordinary observation. Strangers might have 
imagined that if any person suddenly dropped down dead at 
his feet he would have remained as cold and self-possessed 
as before ; but there were a few people in the world, and Ma- 
tilda had formerly been one of them, from whom he sought 
no concealment, and to whom he revealed the inmost depths 
of a mind which glowed with feeling and sensibility. She 
had often blamed herself for wasting time on the remem- 
brance of one whose absence was in itself a mark of indiffer- 
ence ; and general report had led her to believe him so en- 
tirely changed, that with all the strength of a well-exercised 
and well-principled mind, Matilda had resolutely crushed 
out of her heart every thought that could endanger her peace. 
She had ceased to think of him except as an interesting ac- 
quaintance, in whose conversation there had been a degree 
of intellectual fire and vigor never equalled by any one 
since ; and she now resolved not hastily to believe what her 
heart and her hopes suggested. 

“ You see Sir Alfred is very constant t” whispered Eleanor 
to her cousin, when a noise of talking prevented the possi- 
bility of her being heard. 

“How!” exclaimed Matilda, starting. 

u Did you not observe ! when I threatened never to marry 
a member of Parliament, he immediately wished to lose his 
election. Nothing could be more decided.” 

What a salutary lesson for me* to distrust my own im 
6 * 


130 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


pressions,” thought Matilda, as the remembrance arose to 
her mind of the tears Miss Murray had often shed in describ 
ing her long-lost sister’s tragical end. “ I must avoid such 
a fate ; and that can best be done by continuing to doubt , 
for no girl’s affections are ever irretrievably given to another, 
until she previously believes herself to be loved. It is our 
nature to return tenfold what is bestowed, but no more to be 
first in attachment, than for the moon to give light before 
the sun has shone upon it. Many a time have I sympathized 
over the withering disappointments of others, who have con 
fided their sorrows to me, but now I must be the faithful 
guardian of my own happiness, and allow no vain fancies to 
cheat me of my tranquillity.” 

Nothing gives us so low an estimate of our own attractions 
as being in the society of those we most desire to please. 
Matilda’s mind, however, became calm in proportion as she 
succeeded in convincing herself that Sir Alfred’s had been an 
almost boyish fancy, when she was scarcely yet grown up, 
but that now he had probably seen many superior to herself, 
and could not long continue to feel the interest in her which 
for a moment he betrayed ; and being resolved at least to 
think on the subject no more, she again endeavored to fix 
her attention on the gay absurdities of Mr. Grant, who had 
a sort of laisser alter in his conversation, which rendered him 
infinitely diverting. 

“ How very handsome your poodle looks to-day, Miss Fitz- 
Patrick ! Is it true that you have Blanco bathed every 
morning in eau de Cologne ? His coat is really as smooth 
and white as floss silk ! What an acquisition he would be 
at those taverns in London where a dog is made to walk 
round the table during dinner, that the company may all 
wipe their knives and forks on his back !” 

“ Mr. Grant,” replied Eleanor, in a remonstrating voice, 
“ I generally make a point of trying to believe what you tell 
me.” 

“Well! so you ought! — I appeal to Sir Alfred if that is 
not the case. Douglas ! You have seen it done fifty times ?” 

“ Not above twenty !” replied the Baronet, ironically, “ and 
I. always contrived to have the advantage over everybody 
el se, because I doubled up the tail /” 

“ Now ! of all the obligations in life there is none equal to 
being thoroughly backed out in a story. Sir Alfred, you may 
tell anything you please for a month to come with impunity 


Oil THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


131 


as I shall vouch for it, even if there is a tongue thrust inta 
every other cheek in the room.” 

“Very generous indeed! but I greatly fear your credit 
might be easily overdrawn ; and indeed I thought it was a 
little shaken yesterday with your account of Sir Evan’s 
scanty housekeeping, and the starving mice running about 
with tears in their eyes.” 

“ But did I tell you of my honored uncle’s favorite 
egg soup ? — an egg is boiled every day for himself, and the 
water is distributed to the family. If a bottle of wine is 
ever drawn in the house, too, he has it labelled ‘ P.oisonJ to 
prevent any one but himself from venturing to taste it. No 
wonder his daughter Mary was glad to marry anybody, 
poor girl.” 

U A propos , have no new marriages come out lately?” in- 
quired Lady Susan Danvers ; u they are few and far between 
at present.” 

“ I refer you to Mr. Grant for the last assortment of gos- 
sip,” replied Eleanor ; he telegraphs Edinburgh for all the 
events that have or ought to have occurred there, and has a 
perpetual supply of the newest matches on hand. ” 

“ Every one quite certain ,” added he, in a tone of decision. 
“ The only thing to be regretted is, that I am not on the list 
myself.” 

This was said with his usual careless off-hand tone, in 
which Matilda traced nothing but total indifference ; yet 
Eleanor instantly colored, giving a little conscious laugh, 
and a coquettish toss of her head, which would have been 
infinitely amusing to any one less truly interested in all her 
feelings than her cousin, who regretted to observe Miss Fitz- 
Patrick so blindly unaware of the change which had evi- 
dently arisen in her former lover. 

“ I am told,” said Miss Charlotte Clifford, “ that there are 
nine-and-thirty marriages on the tapis at present.” 

“ Suppose we make the fortieth !” exclaimed Mr. Grant, 
eagerly. 

“ Now, Charlotte, what do you say ?” cried Eleanor, laugh- 
ing ; u this is rather a public declaration, certainly !” 

“ I generally propose to every young lady during her first 
season, if I am sure of being refused, because then she can 
boast with truth of having rejected somebody.” 

u But that happens to Charlotte every day ! We know of 
at least a dozen last winter, and I only wonder what would 


132 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


be good enough — peers, officers, authors, travellers! — she 
must be waiting for a Lord of Session !” 

Lady Susan now drew her chair forward and assumed an 
aspect of the deepest attention, while Mr. Grant, with a de- 
gree of gravity and importance suited to the occasion, drew 
out from liis pocket a numerous collection of old letters. 
“ Are we quite among friends?” said he, carefully turning 
over several papers. u The strictest secrecy must be ob- 
served. Douglas, pray step aside, because you are such a 
gossip, that my news will be repeated all over the country by 
to-morrow.” 

“ I don’t care who marries, provided nobody marries me !” 
replied Sir Alfred, looking accidentally towards Eleanor. 

“ I publish the banns of matrimony, then, between Miss 
Brown and Mr. Smith — that is positive, having been declared 
last week!” 

u Who are they ?” asked Lady Susan, anxiously. 

u How should I know ? very excellent people, I dare say, 
and extremely suitable !” 

“ There was a Miss Brown, or White, or Grey, or some 
such color, that I remember once rather admiring and bring- 
ing into fashion at Cheltenham,” said Colonel Pendarvis ; 
“ but it was nearly two years ago, so she must be quite passee 
now.” 

“ For my part I hate new beauties!” observed Mr. Grant, 
with an arch look at his cousin. “ I never thoroughly admire 
any face till I have been accustomed to it for eight or ten 
years.” 

“ Pshaw, Mr. Grant! now tell us of somebody whose name 
at least we know,” continued she, impatiently. “What does 
it signify to me whether such people as these marry or 
not?” 

“ But, Lady Susan, if those in whom you are interested 
will not marry, how can I help it ? Let me see — the list is 
only begun! A brother of the Queen of Naples, to the 
Grand Duke of Baden’s half-sister — that is important ! we 

are getting into high life now ! Lady Susan Dan oh ! 

pardon me ! hem — not yet announced hem — 

splendid alliance — hem — long attachment um — mag- 
nificent settlements and jewels ” 

“ Ah, Mr. Grant ! this is not fair ! you are become a 
fortune-teller rather than a newsmonger,” interrupted 
Eleanor. “ There are others of the present company who 
might enlarge your list,” added she, looking slyly from Miss 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


133 


Marabout, simpering on an opposite seat, to Mr. Armstrong ; 
who was humming the tune of “ Meet me by moonlight !” 

“ I should like to know,” said Matilda, u how long this 
world would last in the hands of a thorough gossip ; because 
every person must marry immediately, and die not very long 
afterwards, to furnish them with entertainment.” 

At length a dressing-bell rung, and the whole party were 
dispersing to prepare for dinner, when Matilda hastily 
stooped down to collect some of her drawing materials, which 
had been scattered on the floor by Lady Susan’s dogs. Sup- 
posing her to begone, Colonel Pendarvis eagerly asked, in 
accents of admiration, who she was ; and before Matilda could 
emerge from concealment, to effect an escape, Eleanor drew 
a sketch which evidently pointed out to her own admirers in 
what light she wished them to consider the original. 

“ A cousin of mine! quite a saint, and very blue ! You 
have heard of my aunt, Lady Howard, who is a perfect poly- 
glott of languages'? — speaks Latin fluently — could tell if 
there be a dot too many in Dr. Porson’s essays, and asks 
gentlemen whether they prefer the plays of Euripides or 
Sophocles. Her daughter is exactly such another — teaches 
Sunday schools, and is quite in the good line. If you ask 
her to dance a quadrille, she will answer with a text ; and 
only last week I saw her mooning at the window so long in 
the evening that she is evidently trying to count whether the 
stars are an odd or an even number.” 

Colonel Pendarvis shrunk into the farthest corner of the 
sofa, and put up a screen, as if he were seeking protection 
from such a terrific being as Matilda heard herself described. 
Lord Alderby turned up his eyes with contempt, Major Fo- 
ley shrugged his shoulders with horror, and Sir Alfred 
calmly fixed his penetrating eyes on the heiress’s laughing, 
triumphant countenance. 

“ I deny the whole indictment, Eleanor !” said Matilda, 
rising when she found it impossible any longer to avoid 
being produced, though the necessity for coming so unex- 
pectedly forward covered her with confusion. Her bright 
eyes sparkled with animation, her transparent complexion 
glowed with more than its usual brilliancy, and an expres- 
sion of modest sensibility added a charm to her countenance 
which nothing could have excelled. Hastily gliding out of 
the room, she merely whispered to Eleanor, in a tone of 
gentle reproach, “ Defend me from a candid friend ! You 
deserve to be prosecuted for a libel 1” 


134 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


So completely had the heiress’s suitors understood their 
cue, from what Eleanor said of her cousin, that not one in 
the number ventured to express the admiration which could 
not but be felt by them all, at her graceful appearance, ex- 
cept Mr. Grant, who exclaimed, with his usual independence 
of thinking and speaking, 

“ Look to your laurels, Miss Fitz-Patrick ! I always 
maintained there was no one fit to draw in a curricle with 
you, except Miss Howard, and I think so still. Now, gen- 
tlemen, let me rise to explain, on the present occasion, that 
I like to see the game of life played with fairness, and as her 
portrait was rather highly colored some minutes ago, I must 
bear iny testimony to having formerly talked to Miss How- 
ard often without being one bit the wiser. We never dis- 
cussed ‘ that great Roman Emperor, Pliny the Second,’ nor 
did we quote either Dionysius of Halicarnassus on Gun- 
powder, or Professor Tiptoe’s Essay on Greek Participles. 
She was always very lovely and interesting, but so improved 
of late, that I scarcely recognized her in the morning, and 
now my eyes are really quite dazzled by that beautiful ap- 
parition.” 

“ So it appears, for you have been completely blinded,” 
replied Eleanor, with an angry laugh. “ For my own part, to 
say the truth, I never could see much to admire in Matilda.” 

“ A good humored expression, for instance ?” said Mr. 
Grant, watching the heiress’s, which was visibly irritated. 

“ If that be all, you might as well admire Miss Murray.” 

“So I do! beyond measure! A country clergyman once 
observed in his sermon, when I was present, that ‘ a good 
temper was an invaluable blessing , worth five hundred a-year 
and to those who can afford to pay for such a luxury, I really 
think it must be. Miss Murray seems rich in good quali- 
ties, — and ditto, I am convinced is Miss Howard.” 

“ What an excellent plan it would be, if people’s accom- 
plishments and good qualities could be sold by auction when 
they are of no farther use ! — Matilda, according to your way 
of appraising her, might acquire a tolerable income, whereas 
now she has none at all, and I could afford to part with seve- 
ral of mine.” 

“ In fact, people are apt to do so very often when they 
grow rich, and to part with some that I could not dispense 
with, at any price. But,” added Mr. Grant, resuming his 
usual tone of heedless vivacity, “ the grapes are sour when 
I talk of wealth, being so poor myself that it would make 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


135 


me bankrupt any day, if I went twice in succession to the 
theatre.” 

“ It is an infallible sign of people being rich when they 
talk of poverty,” said Eleanor ; “ those who suffer in ear- 
nest, try to conceal their necessities. I suspect you must 
have succeeded to some large addition of fortune lately, Mr. 
Grant?” 

“ A legacy of six and eight pence ; and I am trying to 
live upon the interest,” replied he, strolling towards the 
door, and singing, 

“ How happy 5 s the soldier that lives on his pay, 

And spends hali-a-crown upon sixpence a-day.” 

“ Pray, Grant !” cried Colonel Pendarvis, following, “if 
Sir Evan makes his exit from public life, leaving you 
£10,000 a-year, what shall you do?” 

“ Spend £20,000 a-year, of course !” 

When Matilda had succeeded in effecting her very rapid 
retreat from the drawing-room, she was astonished to ob- 
serve Mr. Armstrong following. “ Miss Howard,” said he, 
with a bitter smile, “ you are not much more obliged to Miss 
Fitz-Patrick for her attention and hospitalities than myself. 
If you only say the word, we shall soon take the gilt off the 
gingerbread, — you guess what I mean, — but remember that 
Sir Robert Walpole said, 1 every man has his 'price .’ ” 

Matilda looked at her unexpected companion with sur- 
prise, and with a transient apprehension that he might be 
slightly deranged ; but nothing appeared on his counte- 
nance, except a prying expression in the very prominent 
eyes with which he seemed endeavoring to read her thoughts. 
“ Mr. Armstrong,” said she, “ you suggest ideas to me which 
I have no wish to entertain ; and, in speaking of Miss Fitz- 
Patrick, remember in whose house we are.” 

Perhaps I know that rather better than you do, Miss 
Howard. If you want to open that riddle, apply the proper 
key. The oracles long ago never spoke for nothing. Con- 
sider what I say, and perhaps you may hereafter think more 
wisely of it than now. 1 Better to flatter a fool than to fight 
him.’ ” 

After saying these words, Mr. Armstrong walked away, 
singing the old Jacobite tune, “ Geordie sits in Charlie’s 
shair,” words he had a constant habit of humming to him- 
self whenever Eleanor became particularly repulsive in her 
manner to him, which was certainly not seldom. 


136 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


CHAPTER XI. 


“ The graceful tear that’s shed for others’ woe .” 


Matilda did not often retire to the privacy of her own 
room, without devoting some portion of time to the serious 
consideration of all that had passed within and around her. 
She usually enlivened the natural cheerfulness of her own 
mind by a remembrance of what had pleased her taste or 
amused her fancy, but, above all, she carefully recalled 
everything that might enlighten her understanding or im- 
prove her heart ; and on the present occasion, when she 
stirred the fire, and sat down in solitude to ruminate over 
the days which had elapsed since she last occupied that 
apartment, a variety of thoughts and emotions crowded into 
her mind. Mr. Armstrong’s language and conduct had, 
during their earliest acquaintance, excited her distrust, as 
she saw that, from personal pique on his own part, he wished 
in some way to make her a tool for his revenge. She greatly 
doubted whether his power was equal to his inclination in 
working the mischief he threatened against Eleanor ; and 
though she perfectly understood his insinuations on the sub- 
ject, no possible way occurred to her imagination which could 
give them the slightest probability. Not a thought could be 
wasted for one moment on the idea of purchasing his secret, 
if he had one ; and being more than half convinced that his 
hints were about as unfounded as the promised discoveries 
of the celebrated Mr. Ady, she dismissed them all at once 
from her recollection. 

Matilda’s next reflections were directed, with a smile of 
irresistible derision, to the remembrance of her own surprise 
and mortification at discovering the entire oblivion to which 
Mr. Grant seemed to have consigned their former intimacy ; 
and she readily acknowledged that it ought to have been 
anticipated in one whose acquaintance was oo universal, 
who formed intimacies every day, and might forget them as 
easily, and whose notions of friendship perhaps resembled 
those of B # * * * * 1, when he once remarked, that if he lost 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 13 'l 

a friend, he had only to walk down St. James’ street and 

take another. 

There remained but one subject which Matilda’s young 
and inexperienced mind was unwilling to approach, even in 
the silence and solitude of her secret retirement, and which 
she postponed to the very last, because it filled her with con- 
fusion and perplexity. To a well-regulated disposition like 
hers, the earliest dawn of a sentiment till then unknown, and 
of which the depth and the influence had been as yet unfelt, 
must ever excite a salutary apprehension that the heart may 
lose that harmony and cheerfulness which have hitherto been 
. its most precious ornaments ; and therefore Matilda, with all 
the powers of reason and reflection, long struggled against 
the conviction which formerly forced itself upon her mind, 
that she was an object of peculiar interest to Sir Alfred 
Douglas. In the secure foundation and the simple struc- 
ture of her happiness, love had seemed like a rich decora- 
tion, which embellished the existence of others, but which 
could never be meant for her ; and feelings which might 
hereafter be the blessing or the misery of her whole earthly 
existence, must be cautiously entertained, lest her future 
life should be deservedly embittered by remorse as well as 
by disappointment. Delicacy and prudence prohibited her 
from thinking of any man as a lover, until he gave ample 
reason to believe that the sentiment originated with himself ; 
but though her affections were not to be won unsought, there 
had been much in the manner of Sir Alfred once to warrant 
her belief in his attachment. Attentions, which in an ordi- 
nary person might have been scarcely remarkable, became 
conspicuous from him, on account of his singular reserve to 
other ladies ; and he possessed a peculiar tact, by which his 
most trifling actions acquired meaning and expression, as if 
they intimated that he cared not to be understood or re- 
garded by any one but herself. His voice had always, lat- 
terly, assumed a different tone, in speaking to her, from that 
with which he addressed another ; his manner then testified 
that sensibility which he concealed from every one else, and 
his conversation had been frequently filled with a recollec- 
tion of her favorite expressions and opinions, which seemed 
to be treasured up in his mind with a degree of interest and 
pleasure such as he appeared ashamed himself to acknowl- 
edge. There was nothing in all this which pledged his 
honor, and Matilda might have succeeded in persuading 
herself, as she resolutely attempted to do, that he merely 


138 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


preferred her society on account of the transient amusement 
it afforded him ; but Sir Francis Howard by no means in- 
clined to take that view of the subject. He constantly ral- 
lied his daughter about the crest of the Bloody Heart and 
the return of the Black Douglas, thus keeping up recollec- 
tions which her own good sense would, if possible, have ban- 
ished entirely, for hers was not a mind which could long be 
contented to dwell in the fool’s paradise of imaginary hap- 
piness. 

Matilda had been frequently warned, that it is customary, 
in the present day, among many gentlemen, along with the 
most marked attention, to make such enigmatical speeclies to 
young ladies as may either mean a profession of attachment 
or a declaration of indifference, according as they are under- 
stood. She had sometimes even laughed at instances which 
were related to her of the ingenuity with which this can be 
done, but yet she became aware, that in all cases of unhappy 
self deception, however justified by circumstances, the lady 
must bear the blame as well as the sorrow. Many of her own 
friends had been fatally deceived into a permanent loss of 
happiness by putting the construction which seemed to be in- 
tended upon such treacherous expressions and equivocal con- 
duct ; but though Matilda did not imagine Sir Alfred Doug- 
las to be capable of the vanity and selfishness which must 
prevail over honor and conscience in all who would seek an 
attachment which they meant not to return, she felt fully im- 
pressed with the probability, from his so suddenly retiring, 
after the first impulse of surprise at perceiving her, that 
whatever his preference might once have been, it was now, 
perhaps, extinguished and forgotten, while she acquitted her- 
self from having been misled entirely by vanity, as Sir Fran- 
cis had made the same mistake with herself, if indeed it was 
one. Matilda could not but at this moment reflect upon an 
incident which deeply impressed her own mind two years be- 
fore, with a consciousness of the danger there may be in im- 
plicitly trusting to any such accidental attentions as are met 
with frequently in society. Walking one day along Queen 
Street with her friend, Miss Adelaide Montague, who was 
then not much older than herself, they accidentally saw Col- 
onel Pendarvis riding past on horseback ; but immediately 
on observing them, he reined in his beautiful steed, and rode 
up. It was Adelaide's first winter, during which she had 
been a reigning beauty of the season, and the Colonel’s assi- 
duities were so conspicuous and incessant, that every tea-tabla 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


139 


in Edinburgh settled, without delay, exactly how much a-year 
he had. or expected to have, as well as the day when his mar- 
riage was certainly to take place. On the morning which 
Matilda now remembered, Adelaide’s eyes sparkled with an- 
imation at this unexpected rencontre, and the handsome Col- 
onel spoke in a tone full of vivacity and pleasure. 

11 Miss Montague ! quite delighted to see you ! What a 
charming day ! I am in perfect despair ! Our marching 
orders are come for to-morrow, and I go with the first de- 
tachment. We are all breaking our hearts, I assure you. 
But one consolation is, that the head-quarters are" to be at 
Brighton ! Anything rather than Ireland. A propos , you 
will be diverted to hear that our spare Major is fairly caught 
by your friend, Miss Wentworth. I’m afraid it’s a lost case. 
Grood morning ! My best regards to Lady Montague and 
your sister.” 

When Adelaide had acted over all the surprise and indif- 
ference which were suitable to the occasion, she took a smil- 
ing farewell of the lively Colonel, and hastened on. Matilda 
felt her companion’s arm weigh more heavily upon hers as 
they proceeded, while the few remarks she made remained 
unanswered, till at last she stole one single glance at Ade- 
laide’s face, and saw the consuming anguish which was 
painted there. Miss Montague silently and rapidly pressed 
her hand, when they reached home, and vanished into her 
mother’s house ; but Matilda never afterwards forgot that 
expression of mute despondency, and when, in society, she 
heard the frequently repeated “ wonder ” how very soon 
Adelaide Montague’s looks had 11 gone off,” and the con- 
stantly reiterated witticism, declaring that she now only 
deserved the last syllable of her name, “ laide ,” that scene 
recurred to her thoughts, and she could neither wonder nor 
smile ; though from that hour it became forcibly impressed 
on her mind how many might have fallen the unsuspected 
victims of a too ready belief in the apparent preference which 
may now be shown, in accordance with the usages of society, 
but the real fallacy of which she felt that it was well for her- 
self to know. It had interested Matilda much that morning 
accidentally to witness the first meeting which took place 
between them afterwards. Colonel Pendarvis, with a polite 
and graceful bow, expressing his fear that Miss Montague 
might not do him the honor to recollect that he formerly 
enjoyed the pleasure of knowing her, and Adelaide’s equally 
well-bred reply, that she perfectly remembered long a g<i 


140 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


having been introduced to him, yet Matilda could not but 
observe also the bitter smile which followed his retreat, when 
he bowed himself off ; and earnestly did she now desire and 
pray that such feelings as those of her friend were at that 
moment might never be her own. 

Her ruminations now painfully turned towards Eleanor, 
in whom every blossom of good seemed to be entirely 
withered beneath a blazing sunshine of prosperity. It was 
with an emotion of pity rather than of displeasure, that she 
remembered the language respecting herself which had been 
so recently overheard; yet with still greater earnestness 
than before, did Matilda wish to hasten from Barnard Castle, 
and she determined on speedily writing to her mother, more 
urgently, if possible, than she had already done, entreating 
to be recalled, and reiterating her request that Sir Francis 
would come for her without delay, though she very much 
suspected that her former messages to him on the same sub- 
ject had never been delivered ; and she was aware that he 
felt much occupied with the prospect of her brother return- 
ing from England for the Christmas holidays, while Sir 
Richard and Eleanor were also looking forward to the arrival 
of the two young Fitz-Patricks from Oxford, neither of 
whom had ever yet seen their sister’s splendid inheritance. 

Amidst the anxieties and perplexities thus crowding into 
Matilda’s mind, she dwelt with pleasing recollection on the 
days passed at Graelfield. They seemed like a verdant spot 
in the arid desert around, when she thought of the sympa- 
thy and kindness, the cheerfulness and peace, which had 
awaited her there, undisturbed - by any apprehension of petty 
insults from her capricious cousin, or by uncertainty with 
respect to the sentiments of those around, or the conduct 
she ought herself to adopt. Conversation and employment 
were there so completely in accordance with devotion and 
piety, that half the difficulty seemed to have disappeared of 
preserving in her mind that continual desire of holiness, 
and that incessant remembrance of her sacred hopes and 
duties which are so incumbent on a Christian, and the defi- 
ciency of which, nevertheless, they have all such frequent 
occasion to deplore. Her thoughts and feelings on that sub- 
ject were then laid open without reserve to friends who 
understood them, and could advise her, from long expe- 
rience in every mental struggle and in every unforeseen dif- 
ficulty ; for all who have advanced, like them, in a Christian 
course, must learn, by'*deep and afflicting experience, tc 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 14 fc 

sympathize in that perpetual combat of good and evil which 
wars in every human heart where any grace exists ; and 
simple as w r as Miss Murray’s mind on other subjects, she 
could speak upon this with the knowledge and the authority 
of long practice, and of frequent success. The strength was 
not in herself, but she knew where to seek it with infallible 
expectation ; and she spoke of her experience, and of her 
hopes, with the genuine eloquence of nature. When Miss 
Murray described her unsophisticated feeling, it seemed to 
Matilda like the voice of her own earliest childhood, for the 
hymns and the texts which first delighted her infant mind 
were those to which her aged companion continually re- 
ferred, with unfading interest, as being the words which 
constantly beguiled her time, as well as directed her con- 
duct and thoughts. The high tone of principle and of feel- 
ing which were hourly more developed by Dr. Murray, in 
proportion as he learnt to appreciate the cultivated mind 
and enlightened piety of his young companion, seemed to 
Matilda as if he thus led her visibly onward in a Christian 
course. Deeply had she lamented the necessity for leaving 
a retreat of so much heartfelt serenity and real enjoyment, 
to enter on the present scene of tumultuous amusement and 
artificial pleasure ; and though there appeared little as yet 
to excite any grave disapprobation, even in the most censo- 
rious, there was a waut of that reality in the feelings and the 
conversation, which would have excited her confidence and 
regard. 

It was not a life of “ cloistered indolence” which Matilda 
would have preferred, because few young people enjoyed so- 
ciety more than herself, but she desired only to see it estab- 
lished more upon the Christian principle of kind feeling and 
considerate recollection for others. Though there appeared 
now more of temptation to levity and forgetfulness among 
the gay scenes on which she seemed about to enter, than she 
ever experienced before, Matilda reflected that they were not 
her own voluntary choice, and that therefore she could con- 
fidently ask to be shielded amidst its dangers, and even ven- 
ture to hope that her mind would be strengthened by the 
difficulties she might yet have to conquer. 

Eleanor informed her guests that the dressing-bell rung 
only to intimate that there would be dinner in the course of 
that evening, though she professed to be so liberal in her 
hours, that it was impossible to say when ; yet Matilda now 
discovered that little time remained to prepare for the very 


142 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


late period at which it was her cousin’s whim to dine, and 
she roused herself to commence the duties of her toilette 
Nanny soon afterwards entered the room, and began hastily 
arranging, or rather disarranging the dressing-table, while, 
to Matilda’s surprise, she rapidly opened and closed a suc- 
cession of boxes and drawers without any apparent object, 
and yet with a degree of nervous excitement and agitation 
which could not but be obvious. It had been recently re- 
ported by old Mrs. Gordon, the housekeeper, that Martha, 
being at last fully persuaded of her sister’s indifference to 
William Grey, had consented to accept of his frequently re- 
peated offer, and that their wedding was to take place with- 
out delay. This might in some measure account for a de- 
gree of incoherence and confusion in Nanny’s manner, which 
had lately become perceptible, though she mentioned her 
sister’s engagement some days before without any apparent 
surprise or emotion. Persuaded as Matilda had always been, 
that the poor girl was almost unconsciously attached to Wil- 
liam, she pitied with her whole heart the misguided folly by 
which Nanny had estranged, and finally lost his affections. 
But though, in speaking on the subject to Matilda, she once 
confessed that her conduct towards her former lover had been 
foolish, and that it now occasioned regret, there seemed be- 
sides, at that time to be some unacknowledged anxiety and 
distress on her mind, totally unconnected with Martha and 
William, of which Miss Howard knew nothing, and which 
she appeared unable or unwilling to mention. During the 
drive from Gaelfield that day, Matilda now remembered that 
Eleanor accidentally dropt some insinuations against Nanny, 
and accused her of dishonesty ; but thinking it was merely 
her usual way of haranguing against servants, as if they were 
all convicted thieves, or that it resulted from their peculiar 
good fortune if they were not, she paid very slight attention 
to her cousin’s words at the time. Often had Matilda warned 
the poor girl of her imprudence in many respects ; but now 
she thought only of her distress ; yet as Nanny averted her 
countenance, and evidently shunned observation, Matilda 
proceeded to dress without immediately showing any con- 
sciousness of her presence, or of her singular proceedings 
in the room. Miss Howard possessed that feeling, so in- 
separable from sensitive minds, that affliction must not be 
hastily intruded upon ; while no disparity of circumstances 
made her feel entitled to forget that delicacy, and even that 
respect, with which, while endeavoriug to draw out the con- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


143 


fidence of others, we must cautiously approach their sorrows 
She heard with commiseration and surprise a deep sob of 
agony, which Nanny vainly attempted to choke back, and 
she felt shocked to observe the tremulousness of her hands, 
when there was occasion for her assistance ; but desirous to 
ascertain the extent of her distress before she spoke, Matilda 
placed herself in such a position, that Nanny’s countenance 
became unconsciously reflected in the opposite mirror. — 
Never was Matilda more startled and astonished than to 
perceive the alteration which a short time had produced on 
the youthful countenance which she now saw distorted with 
suffering. The color had entirely fled from Nanny’s cheek, 
her very lips had grown livid, and every feature of her face 
seemed convulsed with weeping, so that it would scarcely 
have been possible to recognize her. With an irresistible 
impulse of surprise and sympathy, Matilda turned hastily 
round, and taking the poor girl’s hand, she earnestly in- 
quired what could have happened to cause such overpower- 
ing distress. A smothered, hysterical sob was all her reply, 
and the unfortunate sufferer seemed too much exhausted even 
to weep. There was always a magnetic power in the tears 
of others to draw forth those of Matilda, and her own eyes 
overflowed at the sight of such intense suffering, while she 
led Nanny towards a sofa, and placed herself upon it. Un- 
mindful of Miss Howard’s desire that she should do like- 
wise, the unfortunate girl seated herself on the ground at 
Matilda’s feet, and covering her face with her hands, she 
wept aloud. 

“Nanny!” said Matilda, vainly trying to raise her, “ tell 
me what has happened ! — say, if I can console you ! — rise 
and sit here — let me know everything that has occurred. I 
pity you from my very heart already, but perhaps we may be 
able also to assist you. Let me advise you, if I can ; or at 
least let us pray together that you may find better comfort 
than any earthly friend can bring ” 

“ Oh, Miss Howard ! I could not have lived till this hour 
if it were not for the hope that you would feel for me,” cried 
Nanny, wringing her hands with a look of frightful agitation. 
“ My heart must have burst, if you had not asked me to 
speak — oh ! promise that you will not believe me guilty. 
You knew me from my happiest days, before I ever entered 
this house — do not cast me off at the first breath of suspicion. 
Say only once that you will remain my friend, and I may 
still preserve my senses.” Nanny paused with a wild hys 


144 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


terical laugh, and looked anxiously into Matilda’s counte* 
nance, while the color rushed for a moment over her face, 
and as instantly retreated, leaving her, if possible, paler than 
before. 

“ Trust me, Nanny,” said Matilda, in a soothing tone, for 
she was alarmed at the sight of such extraordinary agitation. 
11 1 could not credit any stories against you ; it would be a 
sorrowful hour for me if I did ! Can I forget that you were 
Lady Olivia’s favorite pupil — that your mother instructed 
you at home — that you were always a diligent and grateful 
girl ! Oh, no ! you may have acted thoughtlessly, but I 
could make myself responsible, without a moment’s hesita- 
tion, that you have done nothing really criminal.” 

Nanny clasped Miss Howard’s hand in hers, and buried 
her face on the sofa, unable to speak, while Matilda silently 
waited till she had sufficiently recovered the command of 
her voice, when, after some vain attempts to articulate, she 
became at last able in broken sentences to make herself 
understood. 

K I am heart-broken, but not guilty,” said she, in feeble 
accents. “ They may destroy my good name, but they could 
not make me forget my duty. I can look you in the face, 
Miss Howard, with as much innocence now as I ever did in 
my happiest days : but to-morrow I am to leave this house 
disgraced and miserable. All that was precious in life is 
gone — my character has been blasted by those who wished 
to humble me. I have foui*d no pity, and no help. Never 
shall I forget the lessons of my childhood, and they have 
preserved me now. I knew you would not believe their 
cruel stories — you are the only person in this house who 
will not. Oh ! when my mother hears it all — when Martha 
is told the worst — it will break their hearts ! — yet they must 
know it is false. And William, too ! what does he think ? — 
but that is no matter now /” 

At these last words Nanny clasped her hands over her 
face, while large hot tears slowly coursed each other down 
her cheeks, and she became silent. 

“ Nanny ! it cannot be so hopeless, surely ? I believe you 
to be innocent of this calumny, whatever it is,” cried Matilda 
warmly, for she saw that this assurance alone seemed to have 
any power in composing her agitated companion. u Tell me 
all, and depend upon it justice shall be done. Miss Fitz- 
Patrick must be informed of the circumstances without de* 
lay, and she will do what is right on the occasion.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


145 


“ No ! no !” replied Nanny, despondingly. u Her ears are 
already poisoned against me. This has not been the busi- 
ness of a day, and those who contrived my ruin have com- 
pleted it ; they convinced both Sir Richard and my young 
lady that I was always worthless and dishonest. Various 
trinkets have lately been missing in this house, especially 
from Sir Richard’s cabinet and Miss Fitz-Patriek’s jewel- 
box. Some of these were yesterday found concealed in a 
flower-stand, and I am accused of having secreted them 
there. It was even said that William, who came every 
morning to water the plants, had taken that opportunity to 
carry them off, and many of the most valuable are still miss- 
ing. The bitterest stroke of all has been that Aisgood name 
should be injured through me, and his place taken from him. 
We met to-day, Miss Howard, — he came to comfort me, — to 
say that he had got employment at Sir Evan’s, — to know if 
he could be of any service, — to propose that he should break 
it all to my mother, — but the sight of him, after what has 
happened, was worse than death. Martha will make him 
happy, and she deserves his affection, — I never did, and 
least of all now.” 

I shall speak to Miss Fitz-Patrick this very evening. 
You must not suffer an hour longer than can be helped ; re- 
main in my room till dinner is over, and depend upon it I 
shall bring you comfort ; there must be some cruel mistake, 
and my cousin will rectify it at once.” 

Nanny closed her eyes, and mournfully shook her head. 
u You are as kind as I expected, Miss Howard! very kind ! 
words cannot say what I feel, — but no one can help me, for 
the web is stronger than you think. Pauline has often been 
in the habit of wearing my young mistress’s shawls; she 
went out last night in one of them, — her conduct became im- 
proper, and she was in very bad company. Stories were 
repeated to Miss Fitz-Patrick of what passed on that occasion ; 
and Pauline has contrived to persuade every one that it was 
I, and not herself, who appeared at that hour. I remained 
alone in my room all the evening, suffering great distress of 
mind on other accounts, but that was nothing to what has be- 
fallen me since. I had lately avoided been seen, so no one 
can testify that I was really at home. I had found out my 
folly in many ways, and repented of it, but nothing can clear 
me now. I am bowed down to the very dust with shame and 
sorrow. My mother’s gray hairs will be dishonored, — my 
sister’s name is disgraced, and I dare not even ask to be 


146 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


laid beside my father in the grave. Oh ! what shall I do, 
Miss Howard? The whole world is in darkness now ! Will 
no gleam of light ever shine on me again?” 

Matilda felt a nameless apprehension steal over her 
thoughts as she saw the wild tumult of Nanny’s mind, the 
increasing incoherence of her manner, and the burning hectic 
which glowed on her cheek, and which lighted up her eye 
with unnatural brightness. The gong had sounded for din- 
ner long before she left off endeavoring to bring peace and 
composure to the broken spirit beside her. Matilda’s words 
of comfort fell like flakes of snow on a burning desert, so 
soft and so refreshing was all that she said to the suffering 
mind that it was her desire to cheer; and she did not leave 
Nanny without obtaining a promise, given with some degree 
of serenity, that she would retire to bed, after seeking for 
peace and support where alone it can never fail to be suf- 
ficient. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


14V 


CHAPTER XII. 


Sedentary weavers of long tal 1 
Give me the fidgets, and my patience r ails 

Gowusa, 


When Matilda entered the drawing-room, the whole gay 
[arty had assembled, forming a brilliant contrast to the scene 
she so recently left. Lively groups were scattered about the 
room, all apparently animated by the highest spirits ; and 
she looked around to ascertain if there was any individual 
with whom she felt sufficiently acquainted to place herself : 
but all were already engaged, or else comparative stran- 
gers, and Eleanor was so surrounded by her satellites as to 
be quite unapproachable ; therefore, feeling very much like 
some person who had dropt from the clouds, and belonged to 
nobody, Matilda quietly glided into a chair, as near her 
cousin as possible, and began examining a volume of prints, 
to diminish the awkwardness of sitting alone and unnoticed. 
Meantime she stole an intelligent glance around, to observe 
what was passing, and felt as completely au fait in reading 
the plot of all that was going on, and as far removed from 
taking an active part in it, as if she had been seated in a 
side box at the opera. Lady Montague and Mrs. Clifford 
appeared to be in deep and consequential conference, proba- 
bly comparing the relative prices of their milliners’ bills, or 
else each praising her own daughter, in a confidential tone, to 
the other, and boasting of the brilliant talents and prospects 
of their respective sons. Sir Richard occupied the whole 
fire, which was large enough to have roasted an ox, but he 
contrived to spread himself entirely over it, holding by the 
button Dr. Murray, to whom he was eagerly demonstrating 
on the subject of politics Mr. Grant had placed himself 
beside Miss Murray, and seemed for once to be talking gravely 
and in earnest, with a degree of respectful deference towards 
his aged companion, which, in Matilda’s estimation, did him 
honor. Eleanor continued to be hemmed in by a cordon of 
beaux, each of whom seemed to rival all the others in tho 


148 


MODERN SOCIETY. 


brilliancy of his own sallies, and in the readiness of his laugh- 
ter at hers. Not far off was a contrast to this noisy coterie. 
Sir Alfred Douglas had retired to a distant corner of tho 
room, externally in a state of suspended animation, though 
an unconscious knitting of his brow seeemed to indicate that 
his mind at the moment was not so inactive as his body. His 
eyes were half closed, and overshadowed by the dark clusters 
of his hair ; his head was thrown back ; his arms folded, and 
his legs stretched out to their fullest extent, so that Matilda 
could have laughed to see how impregnably he had fortified 
himself against the possibility of being invaded by any one. 
Before long, however, she had reason to suspect that her es- 
timate of fashionable intrepidity was too low, for Miss Char- 
lotte Clifford evidently intended, by a daring enterprize, to 
carry the outworks ; and she was amused to observe, when 
Sir Alfred first became aware of that young lady’s approach, 
a momentary smile that glittered only in his eyes, and the 
sly humor with which he observed the proceedings of his un- 
expected assailant. 

“ What an enchanting day this was, Sir Alfred said she. 
dropping accidentally into a neighboring chair. 

“ Indeed ! I am glad it pleased you.” 

“ Of course it did ! we had a west wind and sunshine all 
day.” 

“ Had we ? Now who noticed all that ? You never could 
have observed so much yourself?” 

“ I am half dead, Sir Alfred, this morning, with the fa- 
tigue of riding to Gaelfield.” 

“ I can’t help it !” 

“ Was that a new britschska you came in this morning ? 
What a variety of equipages, I am told, you sport ! Pray 
tell me how many ?” 

“ I shall have them counted some day, and let you know.” 

“ Do you mean to hunt at Melton this year ?” 

“No! Do you?” 

“ Pshaw, Sir Alfred ! what nonsense you talk !” 

“ Merely for the sake of contrast, that I may be as differ- 
ent as possible from you.” 

“Now that is quite polite and proper! I shall repeat 
what you have said to every person in the house, because 
civil speeches are not supposed to be your forte. How agree- 
able it always makes people when they go to the Continent !” 

“ You have never been there I believe ?” 

“ No ! but I have a cousin-german at Paris. By the 


OK THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


149 


way, one’s cousins- German should all come from Vienna or 

Dresden.” 

“ Your geography is all astray, Miss Clifford ! Did you 
never hear that Dresden is in China ? I am sure you might 
know better, when we dine every day off Dresden China.” 

u So we do ! How very strange that I A propos : you 

will be delighted to hear that Mr. Grant, who can prove any 
two people that he pleases to be related, was showing us this 
morning, that you are actually a Scotch cousin of Eleanor’s.” 

“ How glad she must be ! Miss Fitz-Patrick has some- 
thing now to boast of.” 

“ Yes ! she will probably inscribe on her tomb-stone, ‘ Here 
lies the cousin of Sir Alfred Douglas.’ Talking of that, did 
you admire Pere la Chaise ?” 

“ I am not very apt to admire,” answered he, turning a 
laughing eye towards Miss Charlotte herself ; “ ‘ all seen ,’ as 
Lord Byron says, ‘but nought admired/” 

Matilda had been listening to the whole of this dialogue 
with infinite diversion, and suddenly looked up, while her 
countenance sparkled with so much archness and vivacity, 
that it caught even Eleanor’s notice ; but she hastily dropt 
her eyes on the album again, when she unexpectedly per- 
ceived that Sir Alfred Douglas was intently observing her. 

“ What have you got there so very amusing, Matilda 
exclaimed the heiress, in a tone of curiosity. “ Did ever 
any one behold such a student? Dr. Johnson was a joke to 
you ! but dinner waits, and we positively cannot allow of that 
book being brought to table, which would be done, I dare 
say, if you durst.” 

“ I know of several excellent boarding-schools for young 
ladies, where that is actually insisted on,” observed Lady 
Montague. “ My daughter Maria, at Elysium House, was 
always obliged to learn her Italian exercise while she break- 
fasted, and her Euclid during the intervals of dinner. The 
girls walked out in pairs, one guiding her companion along 
the path, while the other read aloud from the best works on 
science and natural history ; besides which, the French gov- 
erness repeated verses to them all the time they dressed. 
Nothing could be more admirable than the whole system, and 
I only lamented being obliged to take my daughter away, 
because of that long unaccountable illness she had, which has 
never entirely left her. It is, I must say, a great mortifica- 
tion to me, that, with so many accomplishments, she can 
scarcely leave her sofa, and that, with a perfect knowledge 


150 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


of every language in Europe, she has hardly strength to 
Bpeak even in English.” 

« The Manchester cotton-weavers, with their sixteen hours 
of labor a-day, are nothing to this,” cried Mr. Grant, laugh- 
ing. “ When I get into Parliament, my first exploit shall 
be to present a petition from the distressed young ladies of 
Great Britain, praying to be relieved from excessive taxation 
on their health, their spirits, their time, and their under- 
standings.” 

After a long procession had moved to the dining-room, 
and every preliminary arrangement was happily settled, so 
that no lady should be too near the door, or too far from the 
fire, or above or below her proper place — and after Lord de 
Mainbury had been called up, and Mr. Armstrong received 
a hint to go down, order seemed to be in some degree rising 
out of confusion, and Matilda found herself seated next to 
Sir Colin Fletcher. Opposite was Sir Alfred Douglas, but 
as no attempt had been made on his part to approach her, 
she at once determined on encouraging the conviction of his 
indifference, and on preserving her own by the consciousness 
of his. 

“ No one will venture into this chair between us,” ob- 
served Eleanor, who never took the head of her own table, 
and placed herself now within one of her cousin. u Your 
learned reputation has caused quite a panic among the 
gentlemen ! only think, we have been laughing for an hour 
at the terror poor Colonel Pendarvis is in !” 

Matilda was surprised at the audacity with which the 
heiress alluded to her own misrepresentations, but though 
it did cost her an effort, she resolved to preserve her good- 
humor, and tried to change the subject immediately. 

“ Eleanor ! if we enjoyed the privilege, which ladies had 
formerly in France, of choosing what gentleman shall sit 
next to them at dinner, I wonder if we could agree whom to 
summon now?” 

“ Mr. Grant, of course,” said that gentleman, inserting 
himself into the empty space. “ Are not your utmost wishes 
anticipated ?” 

Both ladies smiled a gracious assent, but Matilda soon 
experienced what she had previously anticipated, that it 
would be hopeless to attempt appropriating the smallest 
fragment of her lively neighbor’s attention, which Eleanor 
claimed and entirely monopolized, while an animated dia- 
logue instantly commenced, and continued almost without 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


151 


interruption till dinner was over. Having no more amus 
ing employment for her attention, Matilda listened with 
great animation to what followed, though she was allowed 
no opportunity of putting in a single remark. Mr. Grant’s 
conversation with her cousin seemed a complete contradiction 
to the proverb, “ nought comes of nought,” for all that passed 
was literally “ much ado about nothing,” and yet so enter- 
taining, on account of the light spirits and gay expression of 
the speakers, that it was impossible not to be exceedingly 
amused. They did not talk absolute nonsense, though ap- 
proaching to the very verge : no opinions were revealed — no 
sentiments expressed — no facts stated — no questions asked. 
The conversation had no visible object and no useful ten- 
dency, yet it never flagged for a moment ; but glancing at 
everything, and skimming the surface, it seemed to glide 
along with such abundance of sail, and neither rudder nor 
ballast, that Matilda wondered every moment it was not 
stranded altogether, while they carried it on without effort, 
and almost without thought. 

“ Now, Mr. Grant, there is a laugh in your eye that tells 
me you are going to be satirical ! — is it a droll remark or a 
dry observation ?” 

“ Let me try the droll remark — hem ! — what shall I say ! 
— hem! — what a delightful day this was!” 

“ So I have been told a hundred and fifty times already ! 
If that be meant for a sample of your powers, I shall turn to 
Lord Alderby on my other side. You shall be allowed five 
minutes to strike out something new !” 

“ I do. not require two seconds ! Some people are obliged 
to search their minds for ideas, but mine rush out like a pack 
of hounds from the kennel every time my mouth opens. 
The only difficulty is to keep them back.” 

“ Then pray be very original and amusing without a mo- 
ment’s delay.” 

“In your company that is not difficult*” 

“ How ! do you think me so easily pleased ?” 

“ Quite the contrary ! — my meaning is, that I need only 
take example from yourself.” 

“ Now, that is the only tolerable thing you have said for 
a century ! I perceive, Mr. Grant, that your wit is a mere 
annual, which flourishes but once in a season. You probably 
live at the rate of an idea a-year ! Be sure to set down that 
last good saying in your common-place book for future use.” 

“ Perhaps I never write one.” 


152 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ Impossible ! every human being does ! Did you never 
hear Mrs. Ramsbottom’s advice, that we should all ‘ keep a 
dairy for the cream of what we see V Why, even my maid 
Pauline, who has not three ideas, keeps her journal !” 

“ What a literary gem it must be ! I could form a tol- 
erably correct guess of the subjects recorded therein — a list 
of her true lovers, followed by a catalogue of how many gowns 
Miss Fitz-Patrick ought to have left olf wearing.” 

“ .Now, that is a severe hit at my old black velvet ! How 
I detest mourning ! — all my cousins and relations may de- 
pend on being regretted, if they oblige me to wear black. 
People should mourn in white, like the Chinese. One thing 
I have fully made up my mind about: if ever I am in a 
widow’s bonnet, to wear some pink bows under it, for that is 
the most odious dress altogether that has ever been in 
vented!” 

“ So it is ! How fortunate for me, that I shall never live 
to behold my widow in full costume !” 

“ Not unless you are buried alive ! But tell me what you 
think the most becoming of all dresses.” 

“ Black velvet.” 

“ That is a proper amende to my respectable old gown. 
But now, seriously, Mr. Grant, and upon your veracity, what 
do you think ?” 

“ I never was half so serious on any subject before, as in 
declaring that every lady might be a beauty in my estimation, 
if she would wear black velvet and diamonds. I give you 
no credit whatever for looking well in them. Lady Susan 
herself would be quite young and handsome in such an 
equipment ; but show me the beauty who would be tolerable 
in a quaker’s cap.” 

“ I shall wear one to-morrow.” 

“But then, perhaps I may give out that your cap is set 
at me.” 

“No one would believe it! However, for your comfort, 
Miss Murray certainly intends to do so. She has beeu 
watching us all dinner-time ; — what a dear old dot she is !” 

“ Truly excellent, indeed,” replied Mr. Grant, with sudden 
gravity. “ I do not know her equal in the world. Miss 
Murray, will you do me the honor to take wine ? How I 
wish you were all like her !” 

“. What a dull, respectable world it would be ! — why, the 
very art of laughing would be lost, and that is the only 
faculty we possess which animals do not.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


153 


“ Philosophers have discovered now, that laughter is al- 
ways at the expense of others, and therefore it must he a 
very unamiable propensity. I never have a good opinion of 
people who indulge in it much.” 

“ Then take the consequences, Mr. Grant, for I shall not 
do more than smile at your next bon-mot, if it be ever so 
good.” 

“ That would be exceedingly ungrateful, for I have laughed 
heartily at many of yours, when they were none of the best. 
But, Miss Fitz-Patrick, you are not properly sensible of half 
your obligations to me.” 

u Indeed! what may they be? You remind me of Mr. 
Armstrong, who frequently hints that I owe him unutterable 
gratitude for something or other, which is never explained. 
Now, pray come to particulars.” 

“It was only yesterday that I wore out an entire set of 
intellects in trying to understand some of the worst puns 
you perpetrated.” 

“ l)id I ever degrade myself to punning ? — impossible ! — 
your bill is protested.” 

“Well, then, I danced last year with two plain, elderly 
misses at your own ball, to make it go off well.” 

“ Ah, that seems worth mentioning ! — it is a tolerable 
c.heval de bataille. so let it stand. I begin to blame myself 
for not having sufficiently appreciated your merits.” 

“ Besides, I spoilt a good ear for music this morning by 
listening to your attempts on the flageolet.” 

“ You are running up a perfect national debt against me ! 
— How flagrantly ungrateful I have been ! If Mr. Arm- 
strong ever makes out as good a case for himself, I shall be 
covered with confusion.” 

“Stop a moment; you have not heard the half yet! I 
lamed Scatterbrain yesterday, in trying to make you admire 
my riding — I forced a laugh when you criticised my singing 
— I lost a night’s rest in trying to recollect the name of that 
novel you wanted — I risked my life in going to the green- 
house for the sprig of myrtle you have on ” 

“Not so fast, Mr. Grant! I sent you a box of jujube 
.ozenges this morning, so your cold must be cured. It is 
never the sign of a generous mind to make the most of peo- 
ple’s obligations. The new definition of gratitude is only 
for favors that are coming, so I owe you none at present. 
We must explain this to Mr. Armstrong also, if ever 1 
vouchsafe a word to him again.” 


154 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ Miss Eleanor Fitz-Patrick ! will you take wine ?” said 
the unconscious object of her animadversions. 

“ I wish I had fifty names, that he might give me them 
all !” said she, laughing affectedly, and pretending not to 
hear ; but on Mr. Armstrong repeating his proposal, Sir 
Richard called her attention to it, and she was obliged to 
accede. “ Only a single drop, if you please, Mr. Grant ! I 
would refuse, if I durst, but papa is observing me, so we 
must drop the business in this way. Now, watch my bow, 
for it will be a model of repulsiveness. Ah ! quite a fail- 
ure ! he seems as pleased as possible, so my countenance is 
destitute of expression.” 

“ What a remarkable talent Mr. Armstrong has acquired 
for introducing into conversation the titles of all his great 
acquaintances,” remarked Mr. Grant. “ It was very divert- 
ing to hear him yesterday endeavoring to out-peerage Lady 
Montague, who goes already by the name of Lady M‘Qual- 
ity, on account of her adulation for rank. I am credibly 
informed that she puts on slight mourning for every Scotch 
peer who dies, because they were all her distant cousins, 
which assertion most people are too polite, or too indifferent, 
very closely to investigate, therefore she passes for being 
most highly, as well as very extensively connected.” 

“ My uncle, Sir Francis, calls her the peerless Lady Mon- 
tague. For my own part, I never learnt the game of ‘ Catch 
Honors but I fancy the conversation in that corner of the 
table must greatly resemble it. Mr. Armstrong first brings 
out Lady Ben-Nevis, — then Lady Montague trumps her 
with the Dowager Marchioness of Dumbartonshire, and 
Mr. Armstrong tables the Duchess of Cairngorum, and 
takes the trick /” 

“ How different that sort of vanity is from the real dignity 
of my friend Douglas, who never imagines he could borrow 
importance from any circumstance, or from any person. If 
he were made a peer to-morrow, or if he lost his all in this 
world, it would leave him unchanged. I should like to see 
the acquaintances, the equipages, the hcruses, or the estates, 
that he would think worth boasting of! But few men have 
such a well-balanced mind. I am not sure if I could even 
say as much for myself ! Did you ever hear that when the 
late Lord de Mainbury got a title, he and his son, in order 
to fit themselves for London society, began with exercising 
each other in the peerage ? and I am told it was very hard 
work before they both got \t up thoroughly. ‘What is the 


OR THE MARCH OF INTfLLECT. 


155 


family name of Lord Inchkeith ? How many daughters has 
the present Duchess of Cairngorum ? Who is heir presump- 
tive to Viscount Broadstairs ? What title does the Mar- 
quis of Glencoe’s eldest son take V ” 

u Mr. Grant ! you are growing satirical !” 

“ I can’t help that, as Douglas always says, — but you 
know, Miss Fitz-Patrick, two of a trade never agree.” 

u I despise your insinuations ! everybody says that I err 
on the side of good-nature. Even Miss Murray is much 
more satirical than I am ; but, as the shuttlecock said to the 
battledore, ‘ you like a hit at your friends.’ I begin to be 
afraid that you will take me off next.” 

Pray let it be in a chaise and four then !” replied Mr. 
Grant, with a tone of careless jocularity which might have 
shown to the most superficial observer how little he expected 
or desired such a denouement. It was evident, however, that 
Eleanor by no means understood his meaning in this light, 
for she colored deeply, and nearly pulled her bouquet to 
fragments, while he rattled on with other subjects, totally 
unsuspicious of the impression which had been produced by 
these few accidental words. 

Tired at length of merely listening and smiling, Matilda 
now wished to vary her amusement, seeing she was no more 
expected to take a share in the dialogue between Eleanor 
and Mr. Grant than if it had been a debate in the House of 
Commons, and desiring, if possible, to have some conversa- 
tion herself. The first person on whom her eye rested, in 
glancing round the table was Dr. Murray, flanked on one 
side by Lady Susan, who had turned her back upon him in 
the eagerness with which she spoke to Colonel Pendarvis, 
and on the other side, also dos-a-dos , by Lady Montague, 
who seemed engrossed with Mr. Armstrong in a conversa- 
tion which appeared to be as dull as a Court Guide, or a 
visiting book. 

“ How very strange !” thought she ; 11 the brightest tal- 
ents ; the profoundest learning ; the truest philanthropy, 
and the most extensive knowledge of science, of nature, and 
of revelation, are all at a discount here. No one near Dr. 
Murray would willingly listen to the glowing eloquence with 
which that voice can speak, — to the clear light he can throw 
upon our condition and prospects, — to the plans of useful- 
ness, of kindness, and of mercy with which that heart is 
teeming. Yet there is no look of angry superiority, while 
he listens to the development of minds so inferior to his 


156 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


own He does not wrap himself up in a self-satisfied eleva 
tion of intellect, but would evidently conform in a. great de- 
gree to the humor of those around, if they gave him oppor- 
tunity. I remember Dr. Murray saying lately, that he 
never was in company with any one from whom he did not 
learn something. 1 wonder if he would say so still !” Ma- 
tilda’s eye next caught the placid, smiling countenance of 
his sister, who had been for some time attempting to under- 
stand the conversation of Eleanor and Mr. Grant. Though 
the effort was evidently vain, she seemed pleased, neverthe- 
less, to observe so much vivacity, and looked from one to the 
other, testifying the same sympathetic interest with which 
she might have watched the playful gambols of two lively 
children, Miss Murray being eminently endowed with a 
heart that thinketh no evil, seldom suspected any, unless 
something was forced upon her notice which appeared fla- 
grantly wrong, and therefore, amidst the ebullition of frolic- 
some spirits before her, she still hoped there might succeed 
hours of serious thought and salutary meditation. There 
are those in the world who believe every man in the wrong 
till he is proved to be right ; but this rule was reversed by 
Miss Murray. Others hear with astonishment and incredu- 
lity any favorable comment on the faith or practice of those 
about whom they know little, or perhaps nothing ; but no 
traits of excellence in her acquaintances ever took Miss Mur- 
ray by surprise. There is a vulgar old proverb which says, 
£ set a thief to catch a thief,’ which is never more glaringly 
exemplified than in the case of those who suspect that others 
are hypocrites ; for a true Christian, being himself incapable 
of deceit, will be slow to imagine it in his neighbor. Miss 
Murray always suspected some lurking good, where the world 
saw only evil. She felt sceptical about nothing but the faults 
of her associates, and 1 shifted her trumpet’ when they could 
no longer be defended. There had always been some per- 
plexity in her mind with respect to Eleanor, which daily 
intercourse only increased. She felt occasionally a dim sus- 
picion of being herself an object of ridicule ; and she had 
lately lamented the heiress’s gay indifference to the priva- 
tions and sufferings of others ; but still Miss Murray looked 
upon her with partial indulgence, as a child of prosperity, in 
whom better feelings might yet be developed, while she fre- 
quently added her prayers to her hopes, that present scenes, 
with all their dazzling brightness, might not permanently 
Mind her young friend to the all-important future. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


157 


When Matilda’s eye met that of Miss Murray, the good 
oid lady nodded and smiled to her with such an expression 
ot beaming benevolence and of natural simplicity, that her 
heart at the moment might have been compared to some 
modest wild flower amidst a collection of exotics, so artificial 
were the manners and feelings of those around her, amongst 
whom any traits of nature, or any expressions of serious re- 
collection, would have been considered an outrage on good- 
breeding, and an infringement on social comfort. 

About this time Eleanor, with that laudable ambition 
which she often testified, to raise her dogs on a' level with 
herself, sent for a second supply of soup, which she gave to 
Blanco ; while Lady Susan, not to be outdone, soon after- 
wards minced down carefully, for Tiny, a slice of Turkey 
which Sir Richard sent for her own consumption. The 
dogs being hungry, “ licked the platter clean,” and a foot- 
man, in haste, put Tiny’s plate on the sideboard, from 
•whence Martin, without becoming aware of any previous 
destination, traasferred it to Lord Alderby. Matilda, being 
the only person who observed this oversight, made a hasty 
signal for the objectionable plate to be changed ; but she 
colored with confusion to observe the astonishment of his 
lordship at her unaccountable interference, which it was im- 
possible to explain, and she could not but think afterwards 
that those ladies who blame a Roman emperor for promoting 
his horse above human nature, should look at home. 

Nothing is half so rapid as thought, and much of this 
passed through Matilda’s mind in the course of five minutes, 
when at length stye observed Sir Richard’s eye fixed upon 
her. It was his frequent remark, that vacant chairs are 
better at a dinner-table than silent guests, so she now deter- 
mined to make an essay of her conversational powers on Sir 
Colin. Seeing that he was occupied in anxiously investi- 
gating the bill of fare, she ventured some leading remark 
upon it, by way of commencing a dialogue, but she uncon- 
sciously addressed one of those public talkers who disdain 
to waste their tediousness upon solitary individuals. Merely 
giving a hasty, constrained reply, he continued eagerly watch- 
ing for the first opening into which his word and his story 
might be inserted, amongst a knot of joyous bon vivants who 
gathered round Sir Richard near the head of his table. 

Matilda was now consigned to irretrievable silence, and. 
she could not resist smiling to observe that Sir Alfred acted 
the same part from choice which she did from necessity, as 


158 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


he had succeeded at last in reducing Miss Charlotte Clifford, 
his persevering tormentor, to a state of quiescence. She now 
endeavored to cover her defeat by a spirited attempt at en- 
gaging Sir Richard in conversation, though he was so en- 
grossed with his public duties, as host, that her success 
became laughably deficient. Of all the forlorn hopes that 
any one can volunteer upon, none is more desperate than 
that of monopolizing much attention from a hospitable coun- 
try gentleman presiding at his own table, of which Matilda 
now saw an amusing exemplification. 

“ This was a charming day !” said Miss Charlotte, who 
seemed never to tire of praising it. 

“ Lady Susan Danvers ! will you take wine ? — port or 
sherry? Sir Colin calls this vin cheri, it is so excellent! 
Were you speaking to me, Miss Clifford?” 

“ This was a ” 

“ Douglas ! try that salmon ; it was in the river three 
hours ago! Alderby ! send Lady Montague a pate. Par- 
don me, Miss Clifford : I am all attention !” 

“ This was a char ” 

u Dr. Murray ! as Mathews says, 1 you are not a soup-or- 
fishial man, 3 I perceive ! A disciple of Jephson’s, evidently. 
Well! it is what we must all come to, sooner or later. I 
would rather not live at all than live on a rule-of-three diet. 
De Mainbury ! try that vol-au-vent. Made on a Leamington 
prescription, you may depend upon it. Were you remark- 
ing anything, Miss Clifford ?” 

u I merely said ” 

“ Fletcher ! that Madeira has been forty years in bottle ! 
Excuse me, Miss Clifford !” 

u My observation was very insignificant ; merely that 3 

“ Lady Montague ! pray call for a screen ! you don’t stand 
fire well !” 

Matilda’s countenance had been gradually kindling with 
animation as she watched the fate of Miss Charlotte’s valua- 
ble remark, which was destined never to struggle into exist- 
ence at all. She now hastily averted her eyes, to conceal a 
smile which irresistibly forced itself on her countenance, 
and, in turning another way, she unexpectedly received a 
look from Sir Alfred, so full of archness and humor, that 
she was completely taken by surprise. Often, on former 
occasions, the same expression had glittered in his eye be- 
neath an external aspect of gravity, as if he wished her alone 
to perceive it, and now she felt almost as if a renewal had 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


159 


taken place of their intimacy, and that possibly he might 
still be unchanged from what she once thought him. u Time 
might have altered me also,” thought she, “ and a whole year 
may have changed all that he used to prefer. I have always 
thought that when people meet after a long absence, they 
are scarcely the same individuals who became originally at- 
tached, for years transform our sentiments, our opinions, and 
our spirits, as much as our appearance. If Sir Alfred ever 
thought as I once had some reason to believe, he may still 
perhaps find me the same.” Matilda observed-, however, 
that he did not ask her to take wine, nor in any way follow 
up their intercourse, so she again resolutely dismissed the 
subject from her thoughts. 

Sir Richard Fitz-Patrick had now attained the paradise 
of hospitality, applauding liis own cellar, as if his very exist- 
ence depended on its being- appreciated, and listening with 
good-humored delight to a chorus of approbation which fol- 
lowed the drawing of every cork. 

“ This hock might do for the Antiquarian Society ! I dare 
not mention its age !” said he, in a tone of exultation. “ With- 
out vanity, I may assert that it excels anything we tasted at 
Clanpibroch Castle last week.” 

“ I’ll answer for that !” exclaimed Mr. Grant. 

“ Does your uncle not keep a well-filled cellar ?” asked 
Colonel Pendarvis. 

“ I know of none except the salt-cellar. Sir Evan never 
gave me anything formerly but Cape Madeira and goose- 
berry champagne. I never can conceive where such things 
are bought ! One day, however, I remonstrated seriously, 
and told him my terms, that I never dined out under a bottle 
of claret.” 

u By the way, Grant, could you give me leave to shoot over 
the Clanpibroch property next season ?” asked Colonel 
Pendarvis. “ Your uncle preserves so rigidly, that they tell 
me he has a keeper for every bird ; but as I mean to Scot- 
landize again in August, and shall visit this neighborhood, it 
would be desirable in good time to secure the privilege.” 

“ Y ou shall have it then ! but only on condition of adopt- 
ing the plan that I shall suggest — otherwise there is not a 
chance.” 

“ Well, let me hear it ! What would I not gladly under- 
take for a shot over such capital moors !” 

“ That being the case, you must shoot Sir Evan first, and 
afterwards I can give you leave.” 


160 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ How very obliging, Grant ! Pray, accept all the thanks 
you merit for so friendly an offer, and take a glass of Bur- 
gundy with me. It turned out rather stronger than my pe- 
ricranium yesterday, but no matter. If I get such another 
mal de tete again, some person must be hired to take my head 
off, and wear it for me till morning.” 

“ Martin !” cried Sir Richard, turning angrily towards the 
butler, £ * you have omitted to cool this champagne ! It might 
have been iced with the vegetables, they are all so cold.” 

“ Talking of sham pain” began Sir Colin, loudly, — “ the 
best pun in the world, except one of my own, which you shall 
hear afterwards, about Cure us a 1 ; but next to that, the 
cleverest bon-mot I remember was one of Sir Jonathan 
Fowler’s, which you shall hear, about champagne ” 

£; Meantime join me in a glass of it, Fletcher !” inter- 
rupted Sir Richard. “ I got a supply from the Continent this 
month, and wish to have the public opinion. What I had last 
turned all at once into vinegar.” 

“ This is inimitable and to show you how much I think of 
it,” said Mr. Grant, £i if somebody would present me with a 
pipe of the same, I would actually accept the offer.” 

a That wine is so mild, you might drink it in tumblers,” 
continued the hospitable host. 

u Then, Sir Richard, we should very Soon be tumblers our- 
selves.” 

Seriously,” replied the Baronet, with an air of conscious 
merit, u I scarcely believe any one could possibly find its 
equal.” 

“ Rather flat,” replied Lord Alderby, with a dissenting 
shake of the head. 

“ That is a flat contradiction, at any rate !” 

“ Why, Fitz-Patrick !” exclaimed Lord de Mainbury, 
“ your wit sparkles like your champagne !” 

“ Yes,” pursued Sir Colin, “ and the story which I was 
about to relate, and which you may all perhaps now be at 
leisure to hear ” 

“ Pendarvis ! try that hock ! — it was in bottle long before 
your father was born.” 

“ I shall respect it accordingly, Sir Richard.” 

“ No one venerates a good old age more than I do,” said 
Mr. Grant, turning to Lady Susan, and asking her to join 
him in a glass of wine ; “ it certainly wears well” 

“ I am steady to the champagne,” said Lord Alderby. 

u Then you’ll not be steady long !” observed Mr. Grant. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


161 


u As I was saying,” resumed Sir Colin, looking around in 

desperation for a listener, u about the sham ” 

Fletcher !” interrupted Sir Richard, u we are trying a 
new cook to-day, and I wish you would eat down one side of 
the table, to let me know your candid opinion of his skill. It 
is intolerable to see any one wasting a good appetite on roast 
mutton.” 

Sir Colin, it was hoped, had now been effectually silenced, 
as the whole party were aware that he entertained no higher 
ambition than to be reckoned skilful in the science of gas- 
tronomy. No geologist could have understood the strata of 
a mountain more perfectly than he did that of a fricandeau, 
and his knowledge of chemical analysis was profoundly prac- 
tical among sauces and seasonings. Unfortunately, how- 
ever, like all superficial philosophers, he was more addicted 
to lecture than to study, and therefore Sir Richard’s quietus 
did not long remain effectual, for he soon broke silence, in a 
tone all the more consequential, for having been thus publicly 
appealed to as a high authority. 

“ Fitz-Patrick ! I have dined at Windsor — I have lived at 
Crockford’s — and I keep a first-rate French cook myself ; 
therefore my verdict may be supposed to carry some weight 
with it. You will be glad to hear that this is a very clever 
fricassee.” 

c; Keep your own counsel, then, Fletcher ! No good politi- 
cian praises any dish till he has dined on it, and I generally 
make a grimace of disapprobation when most pleased, on 
purpose to cause a diversion in my own favor. Let us all 
try something different to-day, as it really hurts Monsieur 
Martigny’s feelings extremely when any dish goes down un- 
touched, so that I shall make it a duty to partake of what- 
ever no one else has ventured to attack.” 

“ How very different from me,” cried Colonel Pendarvis, 
laughing. “ My old aunt Grace, who grows every day richer 
and shabbier, became so saving, many years ago, that, dur- 
ing my juvenile visits at Yorkton Abbey, it used to be as 
much as my head was worth, if I presumed to be the first 
who opened a tart, or invaded any fortress of pastry what- 
ever. Since then I have stormed the breach at Bergen-op- 
zoom, but never did I suffer more real apprehension than in 
once attacking such a castle of whipped-cream and almond- 
biscuits as this ! Shall I ever forget one day, after my re- 
turn from Spain, her whispering to me during dinner, 4 You 
may take the blanc-mange, but the jelly will keep !’ ” 


162 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ Really,” said Mr. Grant. “ those rich old aunts and 
uncles, who exceed the age of fifty or sixty unmarried, should 
all retire on a pension, or he put to death in the easiest way 
that can be devised.” 

“Aunts are sometimes very respectable people too !” in- 
terposed Major Foley. “ One of mine was exceedingly kind 
to me formerly, during the Eton holidays, and I shall never 
forget that day, when a letter reached me in the barracks, 
announcing her death. We were all sitting at the mess, 
when it was put in my hands, and being then quite young 
and unsophisticated, I instantly started up to leave the room. 
Our senior captain anxiously stopped me, to hope nothing 
distressing had occurred, and if you will believe it, the whole 
table burst into an explosion of laughter, when they heard 
me announce, in doleful accents, that ‘ my aunt Dorothy was 
dead !’ you have no notion how abashed I felt ; but they 
made me sit down again, and in two minutes and a quarter 
my grief was over.” 

Meantime Sir Colin’s lectures still continued, while, with 
a bill of fare in one hand and his fork in the other, he prose- 
cuted his investigations. “ A cook should receive every 
encouragement, and be accustomed to consider himself as 
the most important functionary in the house, or he cannot be 
expected to take proper pains. I have a tray of tea-cups, 
filled with different kinds of soup, brought to my room 
every morning to be tasted, in order to judge which would 
be preferable for dinner, and my chef declares I am the only 
master he ever served who is really worthy of him.” 

“ No doubt !” said Mr. Grant. “You ought also to try a 
plan which was adopted by the French epicures long ago, 
Sir Colin, to encourage exertion ; they dropped half-a-crown 
into the sauce of any dish which pleased their palates, and 
thus the artist was crowned with approbation.” 

“ I protest, here are woodcocks again !” exclaimed Sir 
Richard, in a discontented tone. “ Why, Eleanor, if you 
go on in this way much longer, we shall have bills growing 

“ And that would make you bill- ious,” added Sir Colin, 
falling into such immoderate fits of laughter at his own wit, 
that he continued speechless for some minutes. “ That say- 
ing of mine reminds me of the most amusing story imagina- 
ble. I have laughed at it for hours alone ” 

Matilda looked breathless with expectation — universal at- 
tention was excited — and Sir Colin became at last happy in 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


16 $ 


having obtained “ possession of the house,” which he endeav 
ored to keep as long as possible. 

“ I heard the incident from Lord Ben-Nevis — who had it 
from Sir Jonathan Fowler — or rather, I believe, it was Lady 
Fowler who told it to the General’s brother ” 

By this time the attention of most people relaxed, and 
many began gradually to talk aside, while, as the circle of 
Sir Colin’s audience perceptibly diminished, he felt obliged 
to lower his voice accordingly, until Matilda remained the 
only person whose ear he could command. The bright 
look of intelligence with which she had watched his prom- 
ising commencement, gradually faded into an air of con- 
straint, and in proportion as the narrator’s tediousness 
increased, so much the more difficult did she find it to force 
her thoughts away from more attractive sounds of mirth and 
repartee which were exploding in all directions around ; 
yet, even on such trifli ig occasions, Matilda had a prevailing 
sense of duty, which taught her not to seek entertainment 
at the expense of mortifying another. To spare Sir Colin 
any such degree of chagrin as the continuance of her soli- 
tary attention could do, after his more distinguished audi- 
tors had forsaken their allegiance, she resolutely chained her 
ears to his narrative, while in a dull, monotonous voice, the 
baronet wound his way through a labyrinth in which he 
soon got entangled and nearly lost. Matilda could not but 
privately think that her present annoyance might do admir- 
ably in a new edition of the Miseries of Human Life. At 
last she was called on for a complaisant laugh, as a chorus 
to the loud peal in which Sir Colin indulged when his story 
reached an end. and immediately afterwards he turned away 
to watch whether a larger circle of auditors could, on a fu- 
ture opportunity, be attracted. 

When Matilda’s eyes were released, she found the whole 
party in joyous anticipation of a proposed excursion on the 
ice next morning, since, to the utter discomfiture of the 
sportsmen, it was reported that a hard frost had set in for 
some hours, and that snow several inches deep was already 
on the ground. 

“ In Scotland,” said Colonel Pendarvis, “ people should 
all hunt with a pair of skates in their pockets, in order 
to secure some amusement for the day in so changeable a 
climate.” 

“ It never snows in England,” observed Mr. Grant, 
dryly ; u and the Serpentine is to be frozen by Leslie’s ma- 


T64 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


chinery, in future, about Christmas, that you may practice 
skating.” 

“ We shall have a delightful exploit on Loch Deveril to- 
morrow !” exclaimed Eleanor, in an ecstasy. “ Unluckily, 
it is too cold for gipsying under a tree and broiling chops in 
the open air; but we may order a picnic at the fishing-lodge, 
and skate about all day with a tumbler of hot negus in one 
hand and a biscuit in the other. I could live forever on the 
ice !” 

“ So could I, with the party you propose,” added Lord 
Alderby, bowing and shivering. 

“ Is skating one of your accomplishments ? I thought, my 
lord, your favorite aquatic amusement had been, as Dr. John- 
son describes fishing, with a fly at one end and a fool at the 
other !” 

“ There is a rod for you, Alderby ! said Mr. Grant. 

“ Let me tell you, Miss Fitz-Patrick,” added his Lordship, 
“ that no one knows what perfect happiness is until he has 
hooked a ten-pound salmon, and played it on the line for an 
hour. Pray try the experiment.” 

“ Thank you ! but I have other game quite as diverting, 
Lord Alderby; and sometimes I do fish in very shallow 
streams for compliments ” 

“ Your only difficulty is, probably, to avoid being deluged 
with them.” 

“ There ! Miss Fitz-Patrick !” cried Mr. Grant. “If you 
were angling, that was 1 a glorious nibble !’ ” 

“I remember a laughable story of Dr. Johnson,” began 
Sir Colin, glancing anxiously round the table for an audience, 
but every eye became carefully averted, and even Matilda 
looked inexorably away for some time, but was at last obliged, 
being next him, to become compassionate, and endure the 
endless detail of a well-known narrative, which she could 
have told twice as well in half the time. 

“ Any one who saw me to-day, for the first time, would 
imagine that I am dumb,” thought she, when the story was 
ended, for Sir Colin did not wait to hear her make a single 
remark, before he relapsed into a state of watchful vigilance 
over the jovial party whose attention it was so much his de- 
sire to entrap. 

“ This ice is the merest snowball I ever tasted, Eleanor !” 
said Sir Richard, in a criticizing tone. “ Could Monsieur not 
tiave thrown in a glass of Frontignac, or even a bit of brown 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


165 


bread, to flavor it. Send me the preserved ginger, that 1 
may add a relish of something.” 

“Douglas!” cried Colonel Pendarvis, “I calculate the 
wine has stood with you nearly one minute and a half. Your 
mind seems to have been absent so long to-day, that I wish 
we may ever be able to bring it back !” 

“ The mouton qui reve is the worst sort of mutton I know 
at a dinner-table, and should be roasted without mercy,” 
added Sir Richard u As for circulating the bottles, I have 
a plan for forcing everybody to recollect that duty. They 
shall be made not to stand alone.” 

“ Then,” replied Sir Alfred, “ before long, none of your 
company will be able to stand alone either.” 

“ When you are come to that , we ladies ought to with- 
draw,” said Eleanor, rising. 

“ Stop one single moment, and you shall hear a most di- 
verting circumstance,” cried Sir Colin, eagerly addressing 
Miss Fitz-Patrick ; “ it can be related in very few words ” 

This threat seemed only to accelerate their flight, but as 
the ladies were moving away, Sir Colin said to Matilda, in a 
promissory tone — 

“ You need not suffer for this precipitation, Miss Howard, 
because I shall tell it all to you in the drawing-room, where 
there will be more leisure to enjoy the details than if I had 
hurried them over now.” 

The smile which glittered on Matilda’s countenance at this 
formidable threat was mistaken by Sir Colin for one of 
pleasure ; but, in hastening away from table, she again caught 
the animated eye of Sir Alfred, whose archness and vivacity 
of expression seemed like a momentary gleam of lightning, 
revealing a glimpse of that mind which it appeared to be in 
general his pleasure to envelop in impenetrable obscurity, 
and she again felt surprised at the peculiarity of his conduct, 
in not placing their intimacy on former terms, or else ap- 
pearing more entirely to forget it. 

“ Matilda ! you have shown a talent for silence to-day,” 
said Eleanor, satirically. “ I think all you have said during 
the last four hours might be printed in a duodecimo page.” 

“ Probably it might ! I am like an echo, only able to 
speak when I am spoken to.” 

“ Now I evidently perceive your intention is to set up for 
the reputation of modest merit , which is one of the most 
troublesome characters in society, and one of the most easy 
to support that can be conceived, though, let me warn you, 


ICO 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


Matilda, that gene rally the vainest people affect it. Who has 
not been tormented, at some time or other, with that pride 
which apes humility among second-rate ladies, though you 
ought to be above it ? I have had visitors of that kind here, 
who lived in a continual expectation of being overlooked 
and undervalued — who remain silent, unless particularly ad- 
dressed, because they canuot presume to expect the honor of 
being listened to — who sit in an obscure corner of the room, 
unless called forward to the most conspicuous — who would 
pass their best friend in the street, because they would not 
be supposed to feel certain whether the said ‘ best friend’ 
meant to notice them at all — whom no constancy of regard 
can teach to confide in the good-will of those who are above 
them in rank, and who require more anxious attention than 
any peeress of the party, on account of the obscurity which 
they seem to court, and in which, nevertheless, they would 
feel equally surprised and indignant to be left for a single 
hour.” 

“ I am trying to trace the connection between all you say, 
Eleanor, and my silence at dinner, for unless I had done like 
the French preacher, who took up his hat in the pulpit, and 
held an argument with it, you can scarcely suggest any way 
in which a conversation could have been supported.” 

“ Ah ! your modest merit wears a different fancy-dress. 
When others commit themselves in conversation, you have 
the pleasure of silently thinking that you would never have 
been so caught ; when others are preferred, then modest 
merit whispers, that if it were not for an interesting sensi- 
tiveness of disposition, you might easily eclipse all competi- 
tors ; and if you condescend at any time to give out a re- 
mark, or to exhibit any little accomplishment, then comes 
modest merit, expecting the greatest empressemcnt of attention, 
because it is so easily discouraged, and so seldom comes for- 
ward ; therefore, in fact you, Matilda, can pass off that simple 
plea of modest merit as a sort of paper currency for every 
virtue, while, on the contrary, poor Charlotte Clifford and I 
frankly display all the rubbish of our minds, without a wish 
to pass for being more than mere every-day mortals. I would 
not for worlds seem better than I am conscious of deserving ; 
but if we were all turned inside out, Matilda, some people 
might appear in a very different light from what they do.” 

“ That would be rather an unpleasant experiment, cer- 
tainly ; but as you acknowledge its being my turn to speak 
now, pray listen to me for a few moments.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


167 


Matilda then related to Eleanor, in terms of the warmest 
feeling, all that she heard from Nanny that evening, with 
respect to the unfortunate misrepresentations which had 
taken place in the house, and entreated that they might be 
thoroughly cleared up, if possible, without delay ; but Miss 
Fitz-Patrick’s ruling passion had become a love of power, and 
one of the ways in which it appeared, was, that she never 
chose to act or think in the way that other people expected. 
If her cousin had endeavored to produce a strong feeling 
against Nanny, and a perfect conviction of her guilt, it would 
then probably have been treated as a trifle, and listened to 
with ridicule and incredulity ; but perceiving that Matilda’s 
feelings were strongly excited, and that she entertained no 
doubt of producing a similar emotion by the simple narra- 
tive of all she had seen, Eleanor, to show the independence 
of her own judgment, spoke of Nanny’s sufferings in a tone 
between pity and contempt. 

Poor creature ! she is the vainest and silliest mortal in 
the world ! It has been already a most intolerable bore to 
have a pensive, romantic Abigail ; but I was only too indul- 
gent on the present occasion, for now she has turned out 
worse than you have the least idea of. Both Pauline and 
Mrs. Gordon have a very bad opinion of her. At the same 
time it is quite unnecessary to look so shocked and alarmed, 
for justice shall be done to all parties, therefore pray do not 
invariably expect that whatever I do shall be wrong ” 

u You mistake me, Eleanor, as you always do, now, r re- 
plied Matilda, “ but I must persevere a few moments longer 
in importuning you about Nanny. She is one of the last 
remnants of Ashgrove, and we have both known her from a 
child. Bo, dear Eleanor, let there be no delay in trying to 
exculpate her. Every hour is a lifetime, while she remains 
under these false imputations, and nothing could possibly 
persuade me that they are true.” 

u You always had a prejudice against Pauline, Matilda. 
It is strange that we never, on any occasion, or even by ac- 
cident, like the same people; but Mrs. Gordon’s opinion 
ought to have some weight with you, and she gives a very 
indifferent account of Nanny for being extremely light- 
headed. Indeed, any one may see that in her whole dress 
and manner. I quite regret having ever had anything to do 
with her !” 

“ You may often find occasion to say so, Eleanor, if this 
business is neglected, for that poor girl is breaking her heart 


168 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


about it. Oh ! think seriously for your own sake, for hers, 
and for the sake of our beloved aunt, who taught Nanny to 
value her good name as she does, and let immediate investi- 
gations be made, before she is consigned to irretrievable 
ruin !” 

“ Matilda ! I know my duty in this house, perhaps, as well 
as you do, and have no wish to take a course of lectures upon 
it from any one. I wonder that phrenologists have not dis- 
covered a large organ of interferingness in some heads that 
I know of ; but pray endeavor to practise a few of the Chris 
tian virtues you so often recommend, and then I may listen 
with more deference.” 

u She did not see Nanny’s distress, as I did ; she has not 
heard the eloquence of real suffering,” thought Matilda. 
“ Let me pardon a few hasty words to myself, and persevere, 
whatever be the difficulty, in trying to rescue this poor girl 
from her present misery.” 

Miss Howard hastened to her own room, where Nanny had 
been desired to wait for her, but she was surprised to find it 
not only vacant, but in the strangest disorder, while every 
door and window stood open to its widest extent, her flowers 
were all scattered on the floor, her wardrobe unclosed, and 
her drawers in evident confusion. Hastily rectifying in some 
degree what was amiss, she, meanwhile, repeatedly rung the 
bell, but in vain ; and at length, with a vague feeling of ap- 
prehension, she snatched up her candle, and proceeded in 
search of Nanny to the housekeeper’s room. There, no one 
had seen or heard anything of her for several hours, and 
Pauline, giving a contemptuous toss of the head, remarked, 
that if Miss Howard would send to inquire in the butler’s 
hall, or the steward’s room, she might probably be found, 
while old Mrs. Gordon shook her head, with a look of stern 
severity, and dryly observed, that, indeed, Nanny little mer- 
ited Miss Howard’s care. 

“ Mrs. Gordon,” replied Matilda, anxiously,” t£ I have 
known that poor girl since the time when we both were chil- 
dren. She was then the most innocent, guileless creature 
on earth, and if there be anything greatly wrong now, it is 
very recent. Let us try, then, to reclaim her. She is in a 
state of extreme distress, and deserves, even at the worst, 
our pity. Be kind to Nanny, for my sake, if not for her own, 
and rest assured I shall take it as a mark of personal atten- 
tion to myself, if you will treat her with consideration while 
she so greatly needs it.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


169 


‘ { Indeed, Miss Howard, she takes no advice from me ! I 
never stop telling her how foolishly she has acted, and if 
Nanny loses her character it is no fault of mine.” 

“ Perhaps it may be unnecessary to give counsel now, Mrs. 
Gordon, for Nanny’s present sufferings are the strongest ad- 
monition in favor of future prudence. But do not pronounce 
her guilty of crime till she is proved to be so, and let her not 
be treated as a criminal while any hope remains that she is 
innocent.” 

“ I fancy the less we say about that the better, Miss How- 
ard, for it will soon be shown that she is little worthy of so 
much kind interest.” 

u If none of us ever got more than we deserve, Mrs. Gor- 
don, how miserable we should all be ! let us then imitate 
that mercy which we hope hereafter to receive, and be slow 
to take up an evil report. Where will it be possible to find 
that poor girl, for the state in which I left her was truly 
pitiable ?” 

“ She has found employment, no doubt, Miss Howard, for 
Nanny knows how to take good care of herself,” said Mrs. 
Gordon, maliciously looking towards Pauline. “ She is not 
at all fit to wait on a young lady like you, ma’am.” 

Matilda turned away with vexation and regret, to pursue 
her search for Nanny, wherever there was a probability of 
success, but in vain ; till at length, despairing for the pres- 
ent. and greatly perplexed how to account for her absence, 
she became apprehensive of remaining longer alone, knowing 
that Eleanor would not be sparing of animadversions ; so she 
slowly returned to the drawing-room. 

All was liveliness and vivacity there. Sir Richard and 
his party had joined the circle some minutes before, in a 
blaze of spirits and good-humor, while Eleanor might be 
seen fluttering about the room, like a butterfly on a sultry 
day, her movements were so full of animation, and her dress 
so voyante and gay. Nothing can be more just than the 
privilege which is given to strangers, of estimating female 
character at first by the test of their attire, wherein much 
moral principle as well as judgment may be displayed, and 
more of the character becomes discernible than could easily 
be anticipated. It is certain that accommodating external 
decoration to the progressive advance of years requires a de- 
gree of frequent recollection which few are willing to exer- 
cise, and some ladies never seem to ask themselves the ques- 
tion — a How old art thou?” The fortune and rank of the 

8 


170 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


wearer, also, are not always sufficiently considered ; and 
while some exhibit a lavish expenditure, inconsistent with 
Christian moderation, others also err in giving way to a 
slovenly despondency of appearance, in which the proprie- 
ties of station are overlooked. There can be no well-regu- 
lated time which does not allow sufficient leisure for personal 
tidiness, while, at the same time, there can be no inward del- 
icacy of mind where anything is sacrificed to outward allure- 
ment ; and in proportioning what part of an income shall be 
given to the needy, it is often a duty to afford them employ- 
ment, as well as to afford them alms ; to encourage the in- 
dustrious, while we relieve the necessitous ; and to have it 
always in view that motives to exertion should be supplied 
rather than premiums on idleness. Matilda’s costume was 
chiefly regulated according to the rules of that standard 
work on the subject, “ Mrs. Theresa Tidy’s Eighteen Max- 
ims of Neatness and Order” — being precisely adapted to her 
rank, and to the very liberal income which Sir Francis al- 
lowed. Though no part of her happiness consisted in dress 
or show, she had been taught to consider it a duty towards 
others, as well as towards herself, that there should be no- 
thing in it, of which any friend could disapprove, nor any 
carelessness of her own to let it be supposed that strictness 
of Christian principle interfered with the petites morales of 
society. If she had been to pass a whole day in her room 
alone, still a due care would have been bestowed on personal 
propriety, and yet nothing she ever wore was extravagant or 
inconsistent. Her dress fitted well, was carefully put on, 
and showed to advantage the perfect symmetry of a graceful 
figure, while the massy folds of her smooth shining hair testi- 
fied to great attention having been given to it ; but from the 
time when Matilda left her toilette, she thought no more of 
dress than of the air she breathed. Eleanor’s costume, on 
the contrary, was as capricious as her character. At one 
time she glittered in jewels like an eastern Sultana; and 
diamonds sparkled as glow-worms amidst her dark waving 
tresses, — but on her next appearance she might in all proba- 
bility be attired like a school girl, in her white muslin robe 
a V enfant , with her hair simply braided, and unconscious of 
ornament. In the same spirit, she was muffled up one day 
in the utmost affectation of prudery, and the very next op- 
portunity she ventured to the extremest verge of decency. 
Whatever Eleanor did, or whatever she did not, became al- 
ways a subject of importance, in her own estimation, and 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


m 


whether the remark might be, “ I always wear blue,” or, u I 
never wear pink,” it was given out as a matter of consequence 
which she piqued herself upon. The round white arm of 
Matilda was almost entirely shrouded from view, and never 
willingly displayed ; but Eleanors, bared almost to the 
shoulder, seemed only covered by the profusion of bracelets 
which adorned it ; and her beautifully formed foot and ankle 
were flourished on every stool in the drawing-room, while 
Matilda’s, of equal symmetry, was never seen, except by acci- 
dent. Who has not observed the brilliant silks which are 
obtruded on the notice of every passenger at a shop window, 
till they become so wearisome to the sight, that anything 
less beautiful is more attractive ? and thus it was with re- 
spect to the young heiress’s appearance, in consequence of 
that vulgar-minded ostentation with which she exhibited 
herself, while the modest reserve of Matilda rendered her 
an object of watchful interest to many of whose notice she 
was unconscious. 

“ So you have taken a siesta till the gentlemen appeared !” 
whispered Eleanor when she entered the room. u I. suppose 
you are annoyed because I would not fly instantly to be judge 
and jury at your bidding, upon this fracas between my two 
Abigails ! — W ell ! with all my faults, I have rather more 
equanimity of temper than to sit in angry retirement during 
a whole evening for such trifles ; and more might have been 
expected from one who makes such professions of religion as 
you do.” 

Matilda’s color rose to its brightest vermilion at this un 
expected address, and with a look of indignant surprise, al- 
most amounting to incredulity, she was about to reply, when 
Eleanor, conscious that she stood on untenable ground, hast- 
ened away, leaving her cousin to ruminate with vexation and 
astonishment on the distorted aspect which her cousin was 
sometimes able, and always willing to throw upon all she did 
or said, while a feeling of unconquerable impatience took 
possession of her mind at being unwillingly detained where 
she was so evidently unwelcome. No distressed damsel in 
an enchanted castle could have seen less chance of imme- 
diate escape, for Sir Richard’s outrageous hospitality, and 
her mother’s positive determination, were more than a match 
for the readiness with which Eleanor and Sir Francis would 
have facilitated her wishes ; and she could only wonder in 
silence what might be Lady Howard’s object in forcing her 
to euter a scene of so much perplexity and annoyance. 


172 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


Meantime, a project having originated with Major Foley 
and the Miss Cliffords to get up some quadrilles on the car- 
pet, an animated discussion took place respecting the capa- 
bilities of the room for dancing ; and Eleanor, having, as she 
hoped, obviated every difficulty, was soon in a state of almost 
childish glee. Her eyes glistened with anticipated pleasure, 
while she sung some bars of a favorite galope, and executed 
a few light and graceful steps towards a retired part of the 
room, where Sir Alfred Douglas was deeply engaged in con- 
versation with Dr. Murray. 

“ What a delightful quadrille we shall have!” cried she, 
eagerly. 

“Shall we!!” replied the young baronet, looking rather 
incredulous. “ I hope you have prepared a tight rope for 
me, as I never dance on anything else.” 

u Now, Sir Alfred ! how teasing you are! we cannot possi- 
bly make out the second set without you.” 

“ Try that gentleman in the Spanish chair. He has a 
disengaged look.” 

“ Mr. Armstrong ! ! I never speak to him ! — and besides, 
he seems planted in that seat. I do believe he is like the 
Chinese ladies, whose feet sometimes take root in the floor. 
But now, Sir Alfred, do bestir yourself without delay, or I 
shall be obliged to give you up as a mauvais sujet .” 

“ I heartily wish you would, — but since you must know 
the worst, I am as immovable here as a rock.” 

“ Then you must be blown up with gunpowder ; and, in- 
deed, Sir Alfred, if you continue to be so untractable, I shall 
order the floor to be made red-hot, and then you know even 
a bear would dance.” 

“ Y es ! and with a much better grace than I should,” re- 
plied Sir Alfred, resuming his discussion with Dr. Murray, 
in which they both seemed to be profoundly interested. 

A fatal impediment now arose to the projected amuse- 
ment, as all the young ladies were ready to dance, but none 
of them seemed inclined to perform the music. One was 
“ so nervous,” another could do nothing without her own 
books, and a third had “ made a rule ” never to play for 
dancing. Mr. Grant jestingly offered to whistle a quadrille ; 
and Eleanor professed her intention to order, without delay, 
a hand-organ containing the suitable number of tunes. Still 
the evil seemed without any immediate remedy, when Ma- 
tilda accidentally became aware of the deficiency, and being 
glad of an opportunity to do something which could not be 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 173 

misrepresented, she hastened forward with an offer of her 
assistance. 

“ Oh ! you are the best of human beings ! ! ’ cried Eleanor, 
eagerly looking round for her partner. “Dear Matilda! 
how very kind you are !” 

Miss Howard fixed her large speaking eyes on her cousin, 
and they became suddenly brightened with a tear, for her 
feelings had been excited previously by reflection on past 
scenes; and she was now reminded of the time when such 
words as these had been spoken frequently and sincerely, 
while she felt how truly they would have been deserved, at 
any sacrifice, if the hope and the confidence could have been 
restored with which she had once looked upon their friend- 
ship as that which nothing could alter. 

“ After all, it is a chance if you would have had a partner, 
and it is better to cover your retreat at the piano, as most 
of the gentlemen seem provided already,” continued Elea- 
nor, who had herself been the person to arrange this. “ Per- 
haps, indeed, Sir Colin, who is dancing to cure the liver 
complaint, might have exhibited with you some of the 99 
steps which he boasts of knowing — or Mr. Armstrong could 
possibly be stirred up with a pole, as the quadrupeds are in 
a menagerie.” 

“ Thank you, Eleanor ! two more elderly and respectable 
partners could scarcely have been selected. Perhaps Sir 
Richard also might have forgot his gout, in a fit of generous 
compassion,” replied Matilda, taking her place at the piano, 
where she performed her self-appointed task with mechanical 
precision, while her thoughts irresistibly turned upon Nanny, 
of whose absence she could not but think with surprise, and 
whom she was anxious to form some plan for assisting. It 
occurred to her, at length, how thankfully Miss Murray 
would embrace any opportunity of doing a kind action, and 
as there could be no hope of retaining the poor girl longer 
at Barnard Castle, she resolved on requesting that Nanny 
might be received for a time at Gaelfield, to prevent the ap 
pearance of her character having been entirely forfeited 
Impatient to put this plan in execution, she turned hastily 
round, whenever the quadrille was concluded, intending to 
open the negotiation, when, to her infinite surprise, the 
quadrille party had formed themselves into a country-dance, 
and she saw Colonel Pendarvis clapping his hands for the 
music to commence. No sooner did the country-dance con- 
clude than a waltz was called for, and to that succeeded a 


m 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


galope, so that Matilda thought the whole party must have 
been bit by a tarantula, and yet she scarcely knew how to 
refuse performing for those who seemed so entirely depend' 
ent on her exertions. Certainly there were no very obvious 
symptoms of gratitude on their part, as she neither saw nor 
heard any of the dancers, except now and then, when gentle- 
men came hastily up to her with a message from their part- 
ners to request that she would play faster or slower, accord- 
ing as taste or caprice happened to dictate ; but it seemed to 
be considered a matter of course that, as music was the in- 
dispensable accompaniment of dancing, it signified little how 
that might be obtained, so long as it continued to be ne- 
cessary. 

After Dr. Murray had left the room, which he did early, 
Sir Alfred placed himself near the pianoforte, where it might 
be imagined he was listening to the music, as no other os- 
tensible object appeared in his sitting beside Matilda. Not a 
word passed upon either side, and at length Eleanor came 
up to him, exclaiming, in a remonstrating voice — 

“ Sir Alfred, you really ought to do a little popularity 
amongst us, since you are canvassing' the neighborhood. 
A dance now would be excellent practice for the election- 
ball, where every fat farmer’s cherry-cheeked daughter will 
expect a quadrille.” 

“ I would rather, at this moment, relinquish my seat in 
Parliament than my seat here.” 

I wonder what your valet thinks, Sir Alfred, when you 
return from parties, night after night, without having worn 
out any shoes with dancing ! He must fancy that you have 
been dreadfully at a loss for partners !” 

“ So I am ! and therefore I never presume to ask one !” 

“ But did I not hear Charlotte Clifford, say, some minutes 
ago, when Sir Colin asked her to dance, that she was very 
much afraid a previous engagement to you would interfere 
u Let Miss Clifford plead any engagement she pleases, 
provided I am never asked to fulfil it. Nothing on this 
side of Circassia would tempt me from my quiet corner.” 

“ I wish we had the enchanted horn which forced people 
to dance while it was played upon, and then you should not 
be allowed to sit down for a year. Charlotte would be de- 
lighted to perform also for as long a time ; and you have no 
idea how charmingly she galopes — one might suppose she 
was blown along the floor by a gale of wind.” 

u How enchanting ! If your friend is really such a super- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 

lative performer, perhaps she will favor us with a specimen 
now. Pray ask her to exhibit a few steps here !” 

“ Well, Sir Alfred ! since you are inexorable to Charlotte, 
perhaps I might be prevailed on to dance with you myself.” 

u It is very plain why you propose that, Miss Fitz-Patrick. 
because all the world would immediately exclaim, 1 There is 
the handsomest couple in the world !’ but I cannot counte- 
nance such inordinate vanity.” 

“ It is more a matter of curiosity, to ascertain how I should 
feel in dancing, for once, with an unwilling partner.” 

“You would be as much uplifted by the honor as Abon 
Hassan during his one day of being a caliph ; but, seriously , 
Miss Fitz-Patrick, I have got what is called in this country 
a sitting-down cold, and I was, besides, given over by the 
doctors yesterday with a sprained ankle. Pray let me settle 
here quietly — for life.” 

Eleanor gave a conscious look, and a blush, at these inad- 
vertent words of Sir Alfred, to which Matilda perceived that 
she attributed as much meaning as they could carry, while 
she jestingly replied — 

“ Then I must make away with myself, since you give me 
no hope, for I am like time and tide, which wait for nobody ; 
and once lost can never be recalled — Going ! going ! gone !” 

Sir Alfred looked much relieved at the departure of his 
lively persecutor, and re-established himself in his retreat 
near the piano, where Matilda observed the inward diversion 
with which he seemed to watch some daring manoeuvres of 
Mrs. Clifford to provide her daughters with partners for a 
quadrille which was about to be formed, and before long she 
had so far succeeded, that Miss Charlotte alone remained 
disposable. 

“ Mr. Grant ! will you be so obliging as to help me on with 
this scarf?” said Mrs. Clifford, stopping that gentleman when 
he was about to glide past. “ The room is so cold that my 
teeth are chattering in time to the music ! How I envy you 
young people who can keep yourselves warm with dancing ! 
Do you mean to join the next quadrille?” 

“Yes! and if there are twenty more I am engaged for 
them all,” replied he, hurrying past, with his laughing eyes 
fixed on Lady Susan, whom as usual he had been teasing. 
Mrs. Clifford now moved a little way on, till she caught a 
glimpse of Colonel Pendarvis ; but when she had manoeuvred 
herself within two yards of him, he suddenly claimed Miss 
Fitz-Patrick as his partner, and walked off, while the baffled 


1 76 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


lady turned round and looked for a moment at Sir Alfred, 
but evidently considering it a forlorn hope to attack him, 
she reserved her powers for what seemed possible. “ Ah ! 
Major Foley ! have you not secured a partner yet?— allow 
me to ■” 

“ Miss Clifford, you are quite right not to dance any more,” 
interrupted he, hurrying off. u I am tired myself of beating 
the carpet all night ; but really to see dancing like yours to 
such disadvantage quite shocks me.” 

11 Can any one tell me where Miss Fitz-Patrick is V asked 
Lord Alderby, who had been for some time wandering about 
with his glass at his eye. u She sent me for a camellia to the 
conservatory, and promised to wait here and be my partner, 
if I returned in time.” 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick went off the instant you left her, with 
Colonel Pendarvis ; but my daughter Charlotte is disen- 
gaged.” 

Insufferably hot rooms !” continued Lord Alderby, with 
perfect nonchalance ; “ I must positively look out for a more 
endurable atmosphere.” 

“ Miss Clifford,” said Matilda, who felt for the awk- 
wardness of that young lady’s situation, “ here is a vacant 
chair which looks inviting, beside me, and perhaps you would 
add a note or two of accompaniment in the treble to enliven 
my playing.” 

“ Thank you ! but if no better partner occurs to-night, I 
would rather dance with a chair than sit on one. Nothing 
is half so dull as looking on at the enjoyments of other people ' 
But here comes my usual pis-aller , Sir Colin — I wish it may 
never be my lot to marry him, as a last resource, for he is 
always so convenient.” 

“ You might do worse, and you could scarcely do better,” 
said Mrs. Clifford, in a jocular tone. u Young ladies have 
many more offers of a partner to dance, than of a partner for 
life, so they may afford to be much more fastidious in the one 
than in the other.” 

“ Pray, Sir Colin, where is your friend, Sir Jonathan 
Fowler, at present,” asked Miss Charlotte, arresting his 
steps 

“ I cannot be quite certain whether he is at this moment 
in Rome or in Naples !” replied the baronet, looking 
rather surprised at so unexpected a question ; “ but I am 
searching for Miss Fitz-Patrick, to tell her such a capital 
anecdote ” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


m 


“ Stop one single moment, then !” cried Miss Charlotte, 
as he was hastening past ; u I would not for worlds miss 
seeing the effect of your story on Eleanor ! — how she will 
laugh ! — do take me with you to enjoy it also.” 

Sir Colin looked delighted to have his vanity so flattered; 
but when the young lady took his arm with an air of discon* 
tented resignation, she stole a satirical glance at her mother, 
and affected to suppress a yawn already, as she disappeared 
in the crowd. 

At last Matilda heard a sudden commotion behind — hopes 
of release seemed unexpectedly to dawn upon her — supper 
was announced ; and scarcely had she time to look round, 
before every one had rushed like a torrent to the dining- 
room, leaving her apparently alone at the pianoforte, when; 
she could compare herself to nothing but a upas-tree in the 
desert, so completely did she at that moment feel like an 
alien from society. An unaccountable spell seemed over 
her, and though partly suspecting that it was by the ma- 
noeuvres and descriptions of Eleanor, that she had become 
such a mute in the drama, still that only served to aggravate 
her vexation, and to make her long the more anxiously for 
home, where she would again be restored to proper consider- 
ation and respect. A moment served for these thoughts, 
and Matilda rose to hasten towards her own room, when she 
was suddenly addressed by a well-known voice, which ar- 
rested her steps, and caused the color to rise on her cheek, 
with surprise. She turned instantly round and saw Sir Al- 
fred Douglas approaching, while he evinced in his manner a 
degree of agitation, and even of embarrassment, not less than 
her own. 

“ Miss Howard,” said he, vainly trying to conquer a certain 
tremulousness of voice , u I have been anxious for an opportu- 
nity to express my astonishment and pleasure at finding you 
here! We once agreed formerly — and nothing you ever 
said escapes my recollection — that all great emotions shun 
observation. Mine certainly do, and you might judge of 
their extent to-day, if you could only know the effort which 
it caused me to control them.” 

“ You succeeded so well, Sir Alfred, that I scarcely felt 
conscious till now of your having been interested at all on 
the occasion. I am truly glad on the score of our former 
intimacy, that we do not really meet now as strangers.” 

“ I trusted that you had known me better, Miss Howard 
—that you had long understood me — that you never would 


178 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


measure my feelings by the degree in which they are ex* 
hibited before the world ! — strangers , did you say ? — why 
cannot I tell you at this moment all the injury you do me 
by such a supposition, and how unwillingly I would live to 
see that hour ? But I must trust to your forbearance at 
present, and ask you to believe, that during the long pe- 
riod of my absence, it has been my — my first wish to return, 
and claim the place I once hoped to have in — in your re- 
collection. Time alone can show how far I may merit its 
continuance, but we must begin where we left off, with at 
least being friends. More I would say, if I were at liberty 

to do so. but the day will come when ■ In short, 

Miss Howard, you well know how reserved I am to the 
world, but to you I would be perfectly open, and if ever I 
seem otherwise, ascribe it to anything rather than indiffer- 
ence.” 

Matilda’s color fled and returned, in rapid succession, dur- 
ing these few hurried words from Sir Alfred. She bent 
her head to conceal the emotion which his manner could not 
fail to excite, and the long dark fringes of her eyelids dropt. 
on her cheek, while he anxiously watched for the sound of 
that voice which was so interesting to him, and so exquisitely 
harmonious that all who heard it once must have wished to 
hear it again, but he waited in vain, for she could not reply, 
and a pause of some moments ensued. 

This was by no means the first time that a similar warmth 
of feeling had been testified in the manner and expressions 
of Sir Alfred, and she could not but remember now the deep 
interest with which his former language once inspired her. 
Whenever they were alone, he had then always relaxed from 
the frozen stateliness and reserve of his general manner, and 
betrayed all that energy and enthusiasm of character which 
were peculiarly his own ; but such an immediate relapse into 
formality took place, when there appeared a chance of be- 
ing observed, that she often, on subsequent reflection, felt 
painfully perplexed to account for his conduct, and had even 
occasionally doubted his sincerity ; yet it was impossible for 
her to do so now, when his ardent language was seconded by 
an expression of reality in his countenance which could not 
be misinterpreted. 

Matilda had been frequently told by Lady Howard, that 
men of great conceit and little principle are in the practice 
of endeavoring to make a first impression on young and un 
sophisticated hearts, knowing that neither time nor circum 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


m 


stances can ever afterwards obliterate those earliest remem- 
brances ; but no one could suspect Sir Alfred of vanity, see- 
ing the wide field he might havehad for it exercise, and 
that, with everything to render his attentions acceptable, he 
seemed careless of showing any, except to one only, who 
would have been as unwilling, as she was unable to suspect 
him of deceit. Yet Matilda felt incapable of speaking, from 
an apprehension of betraying more agitation than the oc- 
casion warranted, for it might appear by that means as if 
she attached too much importance to language which was 
evidently guarded, and seemed meant to be ambiguous : she 
therefore remained in perplexed and agitated silence. 

11 1 have been abrupt and precipitate, Miss Howard.’’ con- 
tinued Sir Alfred ; u but such an accidental opportunity as 
the present might not occur again. I was impatient to 
assure you that no change of scene has made me forget the 
hours we passed together formerly, and that I anticipated 
nothing on my return with so much ardor as the renewal of 
our intimacy. You know me to be a man of few words, yet 
those few may be implicitely relied on. But for an impedi- 
ment which cannot at present be explained, my first object 
on reaching this country would have been to ” 

A sound of voices was heard ascending the staircase, and 
at this moment Mr. Grant, with his usual joyous hilarity, 
entered the room, and walked up at once to the pianoforte. 

u Miss Howard !” he exclaimed, in accents of astonishment, 
on observing how visibly she was agitated ; but instantly 
afterwards, with a degree of delicacy and tact which could 
scarcely have been anticipated, he added in the same tone of 
surprise — u is it possible that you have had no supper ? I 
see you are a more incorrigible student than was repre- 
sented by Miss Fitz-Patrick, for you would rather sit here 
reading a music-book, than not read at all. She tells me 
that you think the dullest book in the world better than the 
best conversation ; but Douglas and I must undeceive you on 
that point, by doing the agreeable for once in our lives.” 

Mr. Grant could not resist a sly glance at Sir Alfred, who 
had been examining a print to conceal his countenance, but 
now looked up with much of his usual calmness and self- 
possession. 

« 1 have not the same happy confidence in my powers 
that you feel in yours, Grant. One who so continually exer- 
cises them for the benefit of every person indiscriminately, 
ought to be in good practice ; whereas I so seldom care to 


180 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


please, that I scarcely deserve success, even where it is of 
most importance.” 

Mr. Grant looked with momentary surprise from Sir Al- 
fred to Matilda : but it was only instantaneous, for he imme- 
diately reassumcd an appearance of total unconsciousness 
saying in his usual tone of heedless vivacity, u Miss Howard, 
I have not yet heard a single Latin quotation, nor a syllable 
about the Greek participles! Pray, if we by chance fell 
into conversation, how long might I depend upon its con- 
tinuing in plain English ?” 

u You may have bail for the rest of my life,” said she, 
trying to recover herself. “ My own language is good enough 
for anything I have to say : but Eleanor’s sketch of me was 
so formidable this morning, that it is to be hoped no one 
will ever find it bear any resemblance. I might have said on 
that occasion, as a Spanish officer did, who saw himself for 
the first time in uniform, — ‘ With such an aspect I have 
even a terror of myself.’ ” 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick’s pictures are all mere daubs, loaded 
with color, but not in correct drawing,” observed Sir Alfred. 
“ On most occasions I prefer my own judgment to other 
people’s descriptions.” 

“ If every one did the same I should not perhaps be so 
completely under the ban of Eleanor’s coterie at present ; 
but she amused herself by giving a most ludicrous represen- 
tation, which makes the boldest people afraid of me ; and 
really, of all solitudes in the world, there is none, you know, 
so great as being alone in a crowd.” 

“ I like it above everything,” said Sir Alfred ; 11 but you 
should imitate Miss Charlotte Clifford, whose enterprising 
attempts at conversation I observed you watching to-day ; 
and certainly, Miss Howard, any one might have been en- 
vious of her success, especially considering that you were 
placed at dinner, where on neither side had you the smallest 
chance of being listened to.” 

“ That cannot be levelled at me of course,” observed Mr. 
Grant. “ The fact is, that I require a great deal of drawing 
out, and Miss Fitz-Patrick, by way of doing so, talks inces- 
santly herself, so that I really had not time so much as to 
give a cough all dinner-time.” 

U A propos , Grant ! I always intended to ask your receipt 
for making young ladies conversable, because I never saw 
you introduced to one yet without her being instantly in 
a state of animated volubility.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


181 


u Keep my secret, then, and you shall hear it. Whenever 
I am lazy about talking, and can imagine nothing else to 
say, I ask my new acquaintance if she knows Captain 4 Camp- 
bell?’ Immediately half-a-dozen gentlemen of that name 
start up to her recollection, and she is eager to know which 
of them I mean. Of course they must all be described, and 
before their histories are completed, the quadrille terminates, 
and it is time for us to separate.” 

“ That might do for a ball, but it will scarcely get you 
though the three courses of a dinner-party.” 

“ Ah ! that requires more arrangement. Begin with find- 
ing the room insufferably hot, or intensely cold ; complain 
of being oppressed with innumerable dinner engagements, 
and remark how much you hate crowded parties ; fall into 
raptures with the last concert, but disparage most of the 
performer’s ; find out a likeness for the Prima Donna, and 
compare the German and Italian schools, remarking, of 
course, that Rossini borrows from himself, and how unlucky 
it was that Weber died before he wrote more ; then start 
fair with the last novel, and your business is done.” 

A lively dialogue ensued, which continued to be kept up 
with characteristic humor and animation on all sides, till at 
length it took a still more interesting turn ; and in the in- 
terchange of sentiments and opinions which ensued, Matilda 
was pleased to see traits of good sense and of right feeling in 
Mr. Grant, for which she had scarcely been prepared, from 
the general care-for-nobody tone of his conversation. She 
could be surprised at no degree of talent or feeling that 
were evinced by Sir Alfred, knowing that the exhibition of 
both, in their highest degree, was only checked by his habit- 
ual reserve, which he seemed for the present to have laid 
aside ; and Matilda herself, while she was delighted with the 
observations of others, insensibly revealed the hidden depths 
of her own mind, with which few would not have been capti- 
vated when it was thoroughly known, for the naivete of youth 
were united to a degree of candor and originality in express- 
ing her thoughts, which attracted instant confidence and 
regard. 

At length a rush of voices in the ante-room preceded the 
entrance of Eleanor, leaning on Lord Alderby’s arm, and 
followed by a numerous train of satellites ; but before they 
appeared, Sir Alfred quietly resumed his former position on 
the sofa, apparently in a state of entire abstraction, while 


182 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


Mr. Grant continued his sentence to Miss Howard, without 
expressing any surprise at this sudden desertion. 

“ Matilda ! ! I am quite petrified to find you here !” cried 
Eleanor, who was generally petrified or thunderstruck at 
least three times a-day. “ Have n’t you had any supper 1 
We left some jelly below, and the drumstick of a turkey — a 
ding-dong , as Mrs. Ramsbottoin calls it ; so pray go down, 
and see what you could fancy.” 

Miss Howard professed an utter distaste for suppers, and 
gladly seized the earliest opportunity of quietly stealing to 
her own room, where, her heart fluttering with emotion, and 
her countenance glowing with happiness, which she scarcely 
dared confess even to herself, she hastily cast herself on a 
seat near the window, and began an agitated review of all 
that had been said by Sir Alfred. It was impossible not to 
become convinced of his sincerity now, and she felt that his 
had been the tacit declaration of a preference to which the 
confidence of her whole heart might be given. That some 
impediment prevented a more full explanation, seemed to 
have been implied ; but she knew Sir Alfred to be gifted 
with an almost chivalrous sense of honor, which could not be 
too implicitly relied on, and she gave her mind up to the be- 
lief that he had long been, and still continued to be, attached 
to herself. Often before, as the guardian of her own happi- 
ness, she had called in the warning voice of prudence to re- 
mind her how many made shipwreck of their happiness by 
too ready a credulity on these subjects ; but now she felt 
that not only was it justifiable to credit all Sir Alfred 
said, but that it would be unjustifiable any longer to doubt 
his professions ; and, before she turned her mind upon the 
more serious thoughts and duties of the evening, Matilda 
endeavored to compose herself by a pleasing remembrance 
of many past scenes, which, till now, she had frequently en- 
deavored to forget. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


183 


CHAPTER XIII. 


The broad unfeeling mirth that folly wears. 

Less pleases far than virtue’s very tears. 

Goldsmith. 


The silver crescent of a cloudless moon shone in solemn 
brightness over the distant hills, and lighted up the gaunt, 
bare skeletons of many ancient trees, throwing their shadows 
upon the grass beneath, while the deep blue sky was studded 
with countless stars, which were reflected in the dark, gloomy 
bosom of the silent waters, when Matilda looked abroad to 
admire the mysterious tranquillity of nature, before she pre- 
pared for consigning herself to repose. What Christian can 
gaze long or often on the majestic grandeur of the starry 
heavens, and not be lost in contemplation of its more than 
earthly glory, while the heart soars above those abject cares 
and personal feelings which belong to a present life, and is 
filled with the prospect of an eternal destiny ? Matilda’s 
mind expanded in the thoughts of futurity, and she antici- 
pated that time when the remembrance of every worldly emo- 
tion would seem, in her own estimation, like the momentary 
ripple occasioned by a summer breeze on the fathomless 
oc<fan. A pleasing calm diffused itself over her meditations, 
and she was about to leave the window, and begin preparing 
to retire for the night, when she became suddenly startled to 
observe the dim shadow of a human figure, pacing rapidly 
up and down near the margin of the river, with vehement 
gesticulations, and almost maniacal energy of manner. Oc- 
casionally the person, who seemed to be a female, disap- 
peared for some moments beneath the dark shadows of the 
forest, but again she emerged, and at length stooping down, 
where a large bundle was laid on the grass, she untied it, and 
drew out a quantity of shawls and ribbons, which she pro- 
ceeded to hang in fantastic draperies on herself. After 
arranging and altering their positions in every capricious 
form, she heaped them all on with frantic haste, and began 
gazing at a reflection of her own figure in the moonlit sur- 


184 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


face of the river, as it swept rapidly past beneath the win 
dow. Matilda stood transfixed to the spot, and a thrill of 
apprehension ran through her frame, foi it suddenly flashed 
upon her mind that this could be no other than Nanny, 
whose eccentric gestures and strange appearance caused so 
much terror and surprise. Still she wished to doubt, and 
knew not what to think or do. No one in the house could 
possibly be called, and Matilda remembered, not without 
fear, that a door which communicated with the terrace, led 
by a back-staircase to the large lumber-room opposite her 
own, and that in all probability the poor girl had gone out 
in that way, by which she might at any time return. While 
these alarming thoughts darted into her mind, a voice sud- 
denly rose on the midnight air, in tones of wild and high 
excitement. Matilda listened in breathless agitation, for 
she traced the broken snatches of hymns and tunes which 
had once been familiar companions of her own childhood ; 
a moment afterwards, however, they died away in low and 
melancholy cadences till the voice became utterly inaudible. 
Touched by remembering former times, and deeply affected 
by the discovery of Nanny’s situation, Matilda banished at 
once every personal feeling, and nerving her resolution to 
the utmost, she instantly threw up a window, and called 
aloud to the poor girl, who stood immediately beneath the 
castle wall. A faint echo alone replied ; and though she 
waved her handkerchief, and tried by every device to attract 
attention, it was all in vain ; Nanny stood motionless, and 
apparently unconscious, till suddenly she raised a wild hys 
terical shriek, and Matilda heard for the first time that fear 
ful laugh of insanity, which none who have once known , 
can ever afterwards forget. Her courage now appeared en- 
tirely to have failed, she leaned against the window for sup- 
port, and it seemed as if her heart had ceased to beat. The 
first suggestion of fear was to make fast her own door ; but 
even terror could not make Matilda entirely selfish, and 
knowing that it would be vain to ring her bell, she anx- 
iously thought how assistance could be most immediately ob- 
tained for securing the poor girl’s safety. She looked again, 
and saw Nanny wildly stretch her arms towards the river, 
and rush down to its very margin. There she threw off her 
bonnet, and fell on her knees, while her long dark hair 
floated on her shoulders, and she clasped her hands above 
her head with a look of mortal agony, and of desperate reso- 
lution. Matilda snatched up her candle and instantly flew 


OR THE MARCH OJ INTELLECT. 


185 


down stairs. Contrary to her usual timidity of disposition, 
she formed an immediate resolution, not by the loss of one 
single moment to spare her own feelings in a case like the 
present, where life or death seemed at hazard ; and without 
an instant’s pause, she rapidly glided into the drawing-room, 
where Sir Richard and the other gentlemen were on the 
point of dispersing. Matilda’s steps faltered, and her color 
rose when she saw their evident astonishment at her unex- 
pected presence. But personal consideration at such a time 
are nothing to a generous mind, and advancing straight to 
her uncle, she grasped his arm, and related what had oc- 
curred in a few words. 

Mr. Grant comprehended the whole at once, and rushed 
out, followed by Sir Alfred and the other gentlemen, while 
Matilda remained behind, knowing that her presence could 
now be of no use ; but she told Sir Richard, that, if Nanny 
were brought to the housekeeper’s room, everything should 
be prepared for her there. She then aroused Mrs. Gordon, 
and several of the maids from their slumbers, and caused a 
fire to be rekindled in the grate ; but when all was ready, 
and nothing more could be done, Matilda became alarmed at 
hearing no tidings from the gentlemen, and her heart sunk 
with apprehension. Every breath of wind seemed like the 
sound of their footsteps, and every moment that passed 
served to increase her fears. At length, more than half an 
hour had elapsed, when the door flew open, and Mr. Grant 
entered, bearing in his arms the apparently lifeless form of 
Nanny, which he hastily placed on a sofa near the fire. Ma- 
tilda felt that her hair and her clothes were streaming with 
wet, and it became evident that she had been rescued from a 
watery grave, but scarcely one word of explanation was given 
relating to the circumstances. Mr. Grant, indeed, began a 
hasty narrative, apparently descriptive of great danger and 
exertion, which were not his own ; but Sir Alfred, who stood 
near, gave him a look commanding silence, and, with a shrug 
and a grimace of humorous submission, he obeyed. 

With silent, heartfelt thankfulness for the safety of every 
one, and a tear of pity for the unfortunate Nanny, Matilda 
proceeded to use every means to promote recovery ; and hav- 
ing at last succeeded in restoring apparent consciousness, she 
calmly requested the gentlemen to withdraw, that the poor 
girl’s dress might be changed for what was warm and dry. 
Against being left without protection, however, Mrs. Gordon 
loudly, and almost angrily, remonstrated, saying she would as 


186 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


goon be in the presence of a ghost as of a madwoman. “ Bod* 
ies without spirits, or spirits without bodies, I don’t know 
which is worst, Miss Howard ! but I cannot possibly remain 
in the room with only you and me, and this poor daft crea* 
ture. Her head is just turned with vanity, and I always 
thought she would come to no good.” 

“ There is nothing the matter with me, but that I wish to 
put an end to myself!” shrieked Nanny, starting up with a 
sudden desperation, which caused Mrs. Gordon to retreat in 
terror. “ I wish to put an end to myself,” repeated she, de- 
liberately, while her large dilated eyes were fastened on Ma- 
tilda, with an expression which appalled for the moment, and 
blanched her cheek with awe and apprehension. u Why am 
I here ? Let me go ! I heard a voice that called me ! I hear 
it now ! Let me go ! I am wanted ! I tell you there is 
nothing the matter, but I want to get away from myself ! 
Oh ! I have such horrid, horrid dreams !” 

“Nanny !” said Matilda, making a powerful effort to con- 
quer her own fears, and addressing the maniac in tones of 
touching softness ; “ My poor Nanny !” continued she, laying 
her hand on the unfortunate girl’s arm, and fixing her eye 
intently on hers, with an expression of kindness, though it 
was difficult to fasten a steady gaze on the eye-balls, glaring 
like living coals, which were bent on herself, with an unnatu- 
ral stare. “ Do you remember Ashgrove, Nanny? Do you 
ever think of Lady Olivia and the Sunday-school ? She 
was very kind to you, Nanny, and she always said you would 
do well.” 

“ I want to go where she is ! I would have done it, but 
they will not let me,” whispered Nanny, in a low husky voice, 
while a frightful wintry smile came over her rigid features. 
“ Say nothing about it — I’ll do that yet ! I’ll put an end 
to myself — there’s nothing else the matter !” 

“ But, Nanny, it is impossible to follow Lady Olivia, un- 
less you bear sorrow patiently, as she did. We wish to be 
kind to you — no one shall believe any of those foolish stories. 
I have contradicted them all.” 

At these words, Mrs. Gordon angrily drew up, with a look 
of injured merit, being one of those individuals who never 
for one moment forget their own personal feelings, even while 
witnessing the utmost extreme of human misery ; and she 
considered it an impeachment of her credit, in the govern- 
ment of Sir Richard’s household, that any person should 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 18/7 

doubt of Nanny’s guilt, when she had so decidedly con 
demned her. 

“ None of us are fit for a better world before we are called 
to it, Nanny. You know the apple is not ripe till it falls 
from the tree, and «you must stay your time, while the sun 
shines, or while the rain falls, because all is needful to pre- 
pare us. Do you remember this hymn, Nanny ? Many 
times you said the words long ago : — 

£ Grace alone can cure our ills, 

Sweeten life with all its cares.’ ” 

“Yes!” said Nanny, while her eyes gradually softened 
into a look of recollection : — 

“ ‘ Though you oft have heard in vain, 

Former years in folly spent, 

Grace invites you yet again, 

Once m jre calls you to repent.’ ” 

The unnatural fire which had glared in the unfortunate 
girl’s eyes became suddenly quenched in tears, while large, 
big drops slowly coursed each other down her cheeks, aud at 
length, clasping her hands over her face, she burst into a 
passionate fit of weeping, which lasted for a length of time 
with frightful vehemence. 

“You may leave us now in perfect safety,” whispered 
Matilda, turning calmly to Sir Alfred and Mr. Grant, who 
lingered near the door, aud seemed still unwilling to depart. 
“ I can manage perfectly now — more of the servants are 
come, and she will probably soon be composed when they 
have placed her in bed.” 

Mr. Grant looked at Matilda with a degree of grave and 
serious interest very different from his usual manner, and 
answered, in a tone of respectful kindness, — “ May we feel 
sure, Miss Howard, that your own powers are not over- 
tasked ? — with so much sympathy as you evidently feel, this 
is a very trying scene. We must be allowed to remain until 
medical aid arrives, which Sir Richard has sent without delay 
to summon.” 

The proposal of staying was warmly seconded by Sir Al- 
fred, and not many minutes afterwards Dr. Mackenzie ar- 
rived. Having bled his patient copiously, and prescribed a 
composing draught, he desired that the room might be left 
quiet. The whole party then dispersed, and Matilda ap- 
peared as if she were retiring also, but having contrived to 


188 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


elude observation, she glided noiselessly tack, and gently 
placed herself by the bedside of Nanny, making signs to the 
housemaid, who was also in attendance, that she might be 
seated. Morning dawned, and the grey twilight dimly 
diffused itself over the landscape, before Matilda’s prayers 
and watchings were ended ; but at length, seeing that Nanny’s 
eyes were closed in sleep, though her slumber was agitated 
and disturbed, she stole out of the room, and sought for that 
repose which her own frame so greatly needed. 

Nothing could be more irritating to the jealous spirit of 
Eleanor, than next morning to observe with what interest and 
empressement Matilda was received on her entrance to break- 
fast by all those who had witnessed her generous exertions 
and heartfelt benevolence during the previous night ; and 
nothing could have exhibited more evidently her own good 
sense and discretion, than the calm self-possession with which 
she endeavored to pass over all her own share in what had 
happened, by changing the subject of discussion entirely, 
though her quiet, unobtrusive attempts to do so did not at 
once succeed. Each gentleman, as he came in, renewed her 
embarrassment, by expressing the most anxious solicitude lest 
she might have suffered from her exertions ; while she, with 
that iustinctive sympathy which enabled her to read the 
thoughts of every one, felt perfectly conscious of her cousin’s 
annoyance, and tried to save her feelings by retiring as much 
from notice as possible. Eleanor heard a distorted account 
of the whole scene which took place during the previous 
evening from Pauline, corroborated by Mrs. Gordon. Sir 
Richard’s valet also gave a similar statement to his master, 
by which a prejudice had been fixed in the minds of both, and 
they were fully persuaded that Nanny had been equally crim- 
inal and indiscreet; in consequence of which orders were 
given for her immediate removal to Gowan Bank. Miss 
Eitz-Patrick thought she had done a great act of liberality 
by ordering that Dr. Mackenzie should attend the invalid, 
and spare no expense in the remedies he prescribed ; but 
having done this, she felt entitled to dismiss the subject from 
her thoughts, and considered it an injury in any one to re- 
call what was so disagreeable. 

Eleanor, during the commencement of breakfast, was for 
once grave and silent. This might have been attributed to 
sorrow and self-reproach for the sufferings of her protege, haH 
there not been a shade of anger on her countenance, and 
of irritability in her tone of voice, which evinced anything 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


189 


rather than amiable feelings. Matilda resolutely closed her 
eyes to this, until forced at last to see it, for the color rushed 
unbidden into her countenance, when she heard Eleanor say, 
in an audible whisper, to Miss Marabout, “ All got up for 
effect ! — so fond of a scene ! — some people like on any terms 
to be conspicuous.” 

“ Absurd !” replied the ci-devant governess ; “what have 
people in Nanny’s line of life to do with fine feelings ? Miss 
Howard has encouraged it all ; and that sort of thing is as 
much out of its place in the poor creature’s mind, as if she 
wore a Brussels lace dress. It is evidently done to gain 
some purpose, and I am glad she is to be sent home imme- 
diately. For my own part, I have long suspected the girl 
was a little insane, and would not for worlds live an hour in 
the house with any person convicted of being mad.” 

“ There is more than one person in this house who seems 
to me a little mad, Miss Howard !” said Mr. Armstrong, in 
an undertone. “ Have you not thought better of all I said 
to you ? It is a good move on a chess-board to take the 
castle, and I could pawn my credit on the enterprise suc- 
ceeding, if your own wilfulness does not check-mate the whole 
affair. Would it be worth while to know how the knave was 
once played to advantage already, and how you could give a 
Roland for an Oliver?” 

“ I already mentioned, Mr. Armstrong, that, if you can 
produce a fair and open statement of anything in which my 
interests are concerned, it will give me pleasure to hear it 
fully explained ; but nothing underhand can possibly re- 
ceive countenance from me, nor shall I allow myself to be 
made the depository of malicious inuendos against my uncle 
or my cousin on any occasion whatever, and especially here.” 

Meantime, Sir Alfred buried himself behind a widely ex- 
tended sheet of “ the Times,” and seemed utterly insensible 
of all that was passing around ; while Mr. Grant leaned fa- 
miliarly over the back of his chair, and made a running com- 
mentary on the news of the day, which afterwards diverged 
into discussions of an approaching ballot at the club. 

“Above all things, avoid electing any busy, legislating 
men,” observed Sir Alfred. “ There should always be a 
second ballot at the end of a year, to ascertain if new mem- 
bers may be permitted to remain.” 

“ Admirable ! I shall suggest that when our next meeting 
takes place. How it would thin the ranks. Poor Sir Colin, 
among all those he belongs to, would not survive to tell hia 


190 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


next story at one of them. I am assured that, in London, 
he belongs to three or four.” 

“Quite a knave of clubs! I shall take my name out of 
White’s, or the Traveller’s, if they ever admit him.” 

“ To myself and others, who are on committee at the Al- 
bion, nothing is half so troublesome to manage as a country 
gentleman, who has been accustomed to rule his wife, his 
children, and his tenantry. People who go into society, and 
mingle with strangers, become ten times more tranquil about 
trifles; but a man who lives constantly at home is in a per- 
j>etual storm about the merest bagatelles. From being ac- 
customed to domineer without resistance, every fault he finds 
with our management is pronounced disgraceful, atrocious, 
or unheard-of at the very least; while he puts himself in a 
perfect uproar to know if such a thing was ever done before 
in any community — most likely something that everybody 
does every day, and which I have probably done fifty times 
myself.” 

“ Ah, yes ! people who live always on their own property 
get such an overgrown opinion of its importance, that they 
become like the mouse in a chest, who could not believe that 
there was anything larger or greater in the whole world. 
Society is a perfect Procrustes’s bed for reducing these im- 
aginary giants to their proper level ; and it does them an in- 
finite deal of good to be several times black-balled at a club 
before admission.” 

“ How it spoils gentlemen when they begin to intermeddle 
with news !” said Eleanor, looking with an air of pique at 
the two friends, particularly Mr. Grant, whose altered man- 
ner towards herself appeared now, for the first time, to strike 
her. u Politics destroy conversation, and clubs ruin all the 
comfort of domestic life.” 

“ I beg leave to differ from the last speaker !” cried Mr. 
Grant, breaking off from his studies. “Now, Miss Fitz- 
Patrick ! argument is better than assertion ; so maintain 
your position, and try if it be possible to convince me.” 

“ Can you deny that a thorough club-monger is scarcely 
ever at home ? so how can he be domestic ? He bustles off 
early in the day, to spell over all the provincial papers, till 
it is time to get anxious about the London post. W hen that 
arrives, he greedily seizes one newspaper, and keeps his eye 
fixed upon some person, from whom he hopes to secure an- 
other. After these are concluded, he must have his pool at 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


191 


billiards, and probably ends the evening by playing a rubber 
at whist with two friends and a dummy.” 

“ Ah ! you are describing some miserable old bachelor 
with no attractions to take him home.” 

“ As for that, a man who has married upon nothing, which 
means, you know, in London, about twelve hundred a-year, 
may, for the merest trifle, enjoy at his club the most splendid 
sitting-rooms, gilded like a lord mayor’s coach, and lighted 
up like Alladin’s palace, while his dinner is prepared by a 
French cook, and served up in a degree of luxury and splen- 
dor fit for an emperor. Only fancy such a man going occa- 
sionally home to a dusky parlor, in the twilight of one pair 
of caudles — his wife and his dinner both ill-dressed — a per- 
petual talk of economy ringing in his ears — and probably a 
noisy tumult of troublesome children, throwiug his room and 
his brains into disorder. Now, if he knew no better, the 
poor man might learn to call that social happiness and fire- 
side peace ; but having a club for his refuge, he falls into a 
paroxysm of disgust, and exit.” 

u What an entire want of sentiment is ascribed to us, Miss 
Fitz-Patrick ! Do you suppose we are insensible to the feli- 
cities of domestic confidence, — the sweet interchange of mu- 
tual affection, — the — the — In short, let us read the last chap- 
ter of any novel we can lay our hands on, which will express 
exactly what I mean.” 

“ Ah ! but you never see any hero of a novel who is de- 
scribed as being both a domestic married man and a member 
of White’s. All stories end with the happy couple going off 
like a sky-rocket in a brilliant flame of love and happiness ; 
but if we could only see the result, nothing comes back but 
the stick. I have already superintended the rise and fall 
of several very romantic love-matches, and invariably, if the 
gentleman was a professed frequenter of clubs, he relapsed 
almost immediately into bachelor habits. Mutual indiffer- 
ence is the consequence ; and positively many married peo- 
ple, without any actual quarrel, have, nevertheless, so little 
intercourse, that I am confident, if some kind fairy offered 
to give each separately all the comforts they now enjoy, on 
condition of their never meeting again, it would be a mutual 
relief.” 

u Ah ! Miss Fitz-Patrick ! to a man of my exquisite sensi- 
bility, what an incredible picture that appears ! Such is my 
idea of domestic happiness, that since no lady can be pre- 
vailed on to accept me, I have actually ordered a frame of 


192 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


worsted work to be placed in my sitting-room ; and my par 
rot is taught to cry out in an angry voice, whenever I enter 
the room — ‘ Where have you been all day, Tom V merely to 
keep me in mind of the felicity which may one day be mine 
with my future better half.” 

“ You can scarcely be disappointed, if that be all,” replied 
Eleanor, laughing and coloring. “ I hope, Sir Alfred, your 
standard of perfection in ladies is as moderate?” 

Mine is so high that I have never but once seen any one 
to reach it.” 

Observing the emphasis with which Sir Alfred spoke, 
Eleanor evidently applied it to herself, and dropt her eyes 
with a look of gratified consciousness ; but had she happened 
to notice his intended application of the words ! He merely 
darted one momentary glance towards the interesting coun- 
tenance of Matilda, who was tying up her bouquet, and re- 
sumed his newspaper. 

t; You complain, Miss Eitz-Patrick, of gentlemen being too 
much absent from their own houses,” continued Mr. Grant ; 
“ but if I were a young lady, nothing would be half so for- 
midable to me as the prospect of ever having what is called 
1 an attentive husband !’ A man with nothing to do, — always 
at home, — always in the way, and perpetually expecting to 
be amused ; — who asks in the morning when you mean to 
walk, and cannot be got rid of on any terms, — equally ready 
to shop, or visit, or stroll in the country, and to whom, in 
short, no plan for the day can be proposed so odious as to 
make you sure to get rid of his society.” 

“ I may certainly answer for it already, that there are some 
gentlemen who can on no terms be got quit of! Mr. Arm- 
strong ! I’ll trouble you to ring the bell ! — people who stay 
in your house, like a wasp upon a window-pane, buzzing 
about the table at meals, and keeping one in perpetual hot 
water. Mr. Armstrong, will you fill the tea-pot? It breaks 
my arm to reach so far.” 

“ Those wasps you speak of are very dangerous sometimes, 
and can sting severely,” said Mr. Armstrong, in a slow tone 
of suppressed rage. “ I would advise you, Miss Fitz-Pa- 
trick, to beware of irritating them.” 

u Ah ! Lord Alderby ! good morning ! I guess you sat up 
all night, in order to be down in such excellent time ! Pray, 
give us a new idea upon the weather !” 

U I always prophesy rain every morning in this country, 
and am sure to be right before evening.” 


OR THE MARCH OP INTELLECT. 


193 


“ They tell me that this day is cold, — fine, — freezing, - 
likely to thaw, — likely to snow, — and likely to hold up ! — 
how does all this promise for my skating party?” 

“ Eleanor ! your tea will be fit to skate upon, if we don’t 
get it soon !” exclaimed Sir Richard impatiently. “ I never 
saw any woman yet who could make it tolerably.” 

“Papa! if there is an accomplishment on earth that I 
excel in, it is this ! — but the most deserving people are gen- 
erally traduced by an ungrateful public !” 

“ I have some good news to give you !” added the baronet, 
glancing rather dubiously at a remarkably ill-folded, awk- 
ward-looking letter, which he handed to his daughter. “ Cap- 
tain M 4 Tartan, R. N., has appointed himself to this station 
for three weeks, if quite convenient.” 

“ Captain JVPTartan !” cried Eleanor, faintly ; “ I thought 
he had sailed to Africa, or the West Indies, or somewhere 
of that kind, which would have rid us of him entirely ! I 
had even been considering how a black velvet trimming 
would do on my bonnet ! but Scotch cousins have been a 
proverbial bore all over the world ever since I entered it, 
and will probably continue so, as long as we remain.” 

“ I consider that remark as intended to be personal, Miss 
Fitz-Patrick,” said Sir Alfred, looking off his newspaper. 

“ Oh ! you are enough to exculpate the whole race ! But 
did you ever see Captain M‘Tartan ? Such a man ! — he is 
my beau ideal of vulgarity ! His face is not merely weather- 
beaten, but it looks as if he had been in a storm all his 
life ! — I can’t be in the room with him, he is so ugly.” 

“ But, my dear girl ! you have not seen him for ages,” 
cried Sir Richard. “ He went to the Mediterranean and to 
Petersburg when you were a perfect child, and no one here 
has been in company with him since.” 

“ People do not improve with years, and I never forget 
anybody. In that respect, my memory is like the Royal 
Family’s, and my abhorrence of Captain M‘Tartan began 
before I was ten. He fastened my eyelids together with 
sticking-plaster in the school-room, when I fell asleep over 
my lessons, and persuaded me that I had become suddenly 
blind. His whole wit consisted in those sort of silly prac- 
tical jokes, and mauvaises plaisanteries , which I detest when 
they are played upon myself.” 

“ Let me tell you, Eleanor ! that Donald M‘Tartan is one 
of the most distinguished officers in our service,” said Sir 
Richard, rather angrily. “ You may be very proud of the 

9 


] 94 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


connection, for he showed prodigious spirit at Algiers and 
Navarino. It is said that he has already received nine-and- 
twenty wounds in battle.” 

44 Then 1 must take care not to wound his feelings, or that 
would be the thirtieth.” 

44 And much the most difficult to bear !” added Lord Al- 
derby, with a very asthmatic attempt at a sigh. 

44 He always speaks nautical language, too, as officers are 
represented doing in naval novels, though never heard in real 
life,” added Eleanor. It is like dining at the United Ser- 
vice Club to hear him talk ! He 4 heaves to’ when he comes 
up to one ; 4 casts anchor’ when he sits down ; and 4 fires a 
broadside’ of words whenever he opens his mouth. But his 
worst crime is yet to come I Having been intimate in our 
house when I was a child, he still calls me in this letter Elea- 
nor ! Nothing can be a surer test of vulgarity than that fa- 
miliar way of naming to others our acquaintances, or even 
our near connections in their absence. I already know 
one or two misses professing to understand good manners, 
who talk of gentlemen with whom they are intimate, as 
4 Jack,’ 4 Dick.’ or 1 Tom.’ ” 

44 To be sure!” said Mr. Grant. 44 We have a right to 
be as intimate as we please with those who are not present 
to contradict us ! I always speak of 4 my friend, Cairngorum,’ 
and 4 that excellent fellow, Dumbartonshire,’ though cer- 
tainly, if they entered the room at this moment, I am not 
sure if either of them could recollect me, seeing we only met 
once.” 

44 People of a certain calibre are not entitled to know 
whether I have a Christian name or not !” continued Elea- 
nor, looking at Mr. Armstrong. 44 Captain M'Tartan is, in 
all respects, exactly like a great, overgrown schoolboy. I 
would rather go about with no face at all, than exhibit such 
a physiognomy as he does, and his laugh seems to ring in 
my ears already, it is so outrageous. Well ! inevitable evils 
must be endured, and there is no perfect happiness in this 
world, as Matilda would say.” 

44 You make me quite vain, Eleanor, by attributing such 
extraordinary originality to my remarks !” replied she, smil- 
ing. 44 All that has been said raises my curiosity to see your 
visitor, because it is interesting to be in company with re- 
markable people, and he certainly has a most distinguished 
reputation for courage.” 

u The M 4 Tartan’s are an exceedingly old family,” added 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


195 


Mr. Grant. The whole clan was massacred several times 
during the ancient wars, and they got a peerage from Prince 
Charles.” 

“ You will observe, Eleanor,” added Sir Richard, “ that he 
brings a foreign friend with him, which is a favor I could 
have excused, for you have unfortunately always been only 
too partial to that sort of cattle.” 

“ Does he indeed !” exclaimed the young heiress, eagerly 
referring to her letter. That is really gilding the pill. 
A Russian, too ! — Count Constantine Ecatrinoslav ! I have 
seen that name often in the Morning Post ! This is too 
good news to be true ! Can anybody tell me what he is 
like ?” 

“ Probably,” replied Sir Richard, provoked at her em- 
pressement , w a little, dark, squinting man, covered with 
snuff.” 

“ Above all things, preserve me from a squint !” cried Lady 
Susan Danvers, affectedly. “ It makes one quite nervous 
when any person in company has that deformity.” 

“ Do I hear you objecting to a squint , Lady Susan ?” 
asked Mr. Grant, looking earnestly in her face, with well- 
feigned astonishment. u I certainly could not have expected 
that /” 

i: What can you mean, Mr. Grant ! You don’t intend to 
insinuate that / have one?” 

u Were you never sensible of it before ? What a heedless 
mortal I am ! — how could I commit such a blunder ! But, 
Lady Susan, many people are thought to look rather the 
better of a slight cast, and, for my part, I admire it exces- 
sively. With you it merely seems as if one eye was attracted 
by excessive brilliancy in the other !” 

u Mr. Grant ! you talk the most insufferable nonsense ! 
My dog Tiny squints as much as I do !” 

u How very unfortunate that the subject came under dis- 
cussion at all ! You know, Lady Susan, it is considered 
lucky for a man to squint, but in the case of a lady — why ! 
— No one can become sensible of any obliquity in their own 
vision, because, when you look in the glass, each eye is di- 
rected straight to its own image, but when you turn away. 
Lady Susan 1 appeal to Miss Fitz-Patrick !” 

“ Oh ! don’t ask me ! I hate to tell disagreeable truths /” 
interrupted Eleanor, enjoying, beyond measure, her friend’s 
indignant surprise. “ But candidly, now, Lady Susan, did 
you never observe two gentlemen start up simultaneously, 


196 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


when you asked one of them to ring the bell ? I have been 
puzzled once or twice myself to ascertain whether you were 
speaking to Miss Marabout or me” 

“ Of course !” said Mr. Grant, leaving the breakfast-table, 
and singing, as he went away, — 

“ There’s a look that is rather uncommon, 

In the flash of that very bright eye.” 

“ Fletcher ! do these words remind you,” asked Sir Richard, 
“of a ridiculous circumstance which occurred to us when we 
met at dinner last Thursday ” 

“Wednesday, you mean,” interrupted Sir Colin; “or, I 
believe, on reflection, it was Friday, or Saturday ! — yes ! it 
must have been Friday, for I recollect a trifling event 
which ” 

“ Well,” continued Sir Richard, impatiently ; “let it be 
Friday, or Saturday — no matter which, — we were all sitting 
at the Duke of Cairngorum’s ” 

“ Excuse me ! — It was the day I went to Clanpibroch 
Castle,” interposed Sir Colin, hastily. “ You know the Duke 
arrived that morning for the funeral of poor Lady Anne 
M‘Intosh ” 

“ At Clanpibroch Castle, then, and a gentleman happened 
to say ” 

“ I beg your pardon ! it was a lady ; — she wore a gold tur- 
ban, and ” 

“ Ah ! — man, woman, or child — one of them observed to 
Sir Colin ” 

“ No ! no ! — I first said to her ” 

“ Well ! let it be so ! ‘ Pray, Madam ’ ” 

“ But,” interrupted Sir Colin, emphatically, “ did you ex- 
plain that I sat next to her ?” 

“ You matter-of-fact idiot !” muttered Sir Richard, be- 
tween his teeth. “ Pray, Fletcher, tell the story yourself, 
since it appears that I am incompetent.” 

This was precisely what Sir Colin had been aiming at, and 
he recommenced it, telling every extraneous particular of the 
anecdote that could be edged in, and prolonging his narra- 
tive till breakfast was ended, and most of the company had 
strolled away ; but Miss Howard complaisantly sat out the 
whole of Sir Colin’s tediousness, while, in the meantime, 
Mr. Grant affected to fall asleep, and nodded in his chair, 
having previously whispered a request, to be called when it 
was over. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 19'* 

Matilda proceeded, as always liad been her custom at this 
hour, to the music-room, which she was then sure of finding 
empty, and played several of her favorite songs. She ex- 
celled, without a thought of exhibiting, and had, with the 
most exquisite taste, a mellow, flexible voice, which was a 
perfect tenor, and the varied tones of which, whether in mu- 
sic or conversation, expressed the deepest sensibility. Ma- 
tilda had begun the touching air of “ Bendemere Stream,” 
and while her thoughts reverted to Ashgrove, her notes 
swelled into richer harmony, and then died away, like the 
softest vibrations of a guitar. Before the prelude was fin- 
ished, she had heard some one enter, but supposing it to be 
a servant come to replenish the fire, she did not look round, 
until, to her surprise, some low, and scarcely audible notes 
of accompaniment were unexpectedly thrown in, and she 
perceived Sir Alfred standing near, and apparently listening 
with entranced attention. Matilda’s ready tact prevented 
her from exhibiting any of the astonishment she felt, but, 
with a heightened color, and some trepidation, she continued 
the air, while Sir Alfred gradually let out his voice more 
fully, and displayed much judgment, taste, and science, united 
to a manly, harmonious voice, of which the articulation was 
as distinct as if he had been speaking. Scarcely was the 
song concluded, and before Matilda had, with modest em- 
barrassment, expressed all her pleasure at receiving such un- 
expected assistance, when the door flew open, and Eleanor, 
followed by a detachment of friends, burst into the room, 
full of mirth and animation. 

“We heard music, but could not imagine who it was!” 
she exclaimed. “ Sir Alfred ! no one ever hinted that you 
were an amateur, or I should have teased you forever till 
we got a song !” 

“ That is the very reason you never heard it,” said he, 
turning away. “I know not a note of music, and sing 
merely by ear, or by accident. It is the merest whim in the 
world when I attempt anything of the kind !” 

u How very odd that nobody ever minds Matilda !” cried 
Eleanor. u To be sure, she is no critic, and I shall not be a 
very severe one. Pray, Sir Alfred, do indulge us with a 
cadence or two ! — anything that strikes you as being suit- 
able !” 

Sir Alfred shook his head, and stolled out of the room, 
singing a verse of the “ Charming woman,” and Miss Fitz- 
patrick, ever ready to fancy a compliment implied, was per- 


198 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


fectly satisfied that the title of the song alone applied to 
herself ; and taking instant possession of the piano, she be- 
gan to play a brilliant new piece by Czerny, which had 
recently come from London. 

“ That is very nice music !” said Miss Murray, complai- 
santly. My favorite piece is 1 The Battle of Prague.’ Can 
you play it, Miss Fitz-Patrick ? 

A smile dimpled in the cheek of Matilda, and a contempt- 
uous frown lowered on the brow of Eleanor at this instance 
of antediluviau taste, while Miss Murray, perceiving she had 
made a blunder, turned with an anxious whisper to ask Mr. 
Grant if he could explain why Eleanor seemed so irritated. 

“ I can’t conceive! By the way,” added he, seeing Miss 
Murray still looked perplexed and uneasy, “was not Sir 
Colin Fletcher wounded at the battle of Prague, or he 
ran away, I forget which ? but you know, all things con- 
sidered, it would be awkward to perform that piece before 
him. You are very sly and satirical, Miss Murray,” added 
he, with an admonitory shake of the head. 

“ I am !” exclaimed she, with consternation and surprise. 
“ You cannot surely be serious ?” 

“ Now, Miss Murray, I shall prove it at once. Do you not 
always pretend to mistake my friend Foley’s name, and call 
him, without the smallest compunction, Major Folly ? and 
did I not yesterday see you hastily rise, and oifer Lady Susan 
the arm-chair, to show, of course, that you consider her a 
little advancing in years, and she angrily sat down on a mu- 
sic stool, by way of being juvenile? Oh, Miss Murray! 
M iss Murray ! I am quite afraid of you myself, seeing no- 
body is spared !” 

The gentlemen proceeded soon afterwards, as usual, to 
lounge away an hour at the stables in discussing, for the for- 
tieth time, the comparative merits of their hunters, when 
Lord Alderby seized an opportunity to drop a few paces be- 
hind the rest with Mr. Grant, to whom he made some acci- 
dental remarks, and immediately afterwards observed, with 
a look of penetrating curiosity at his companion, though 
affecting to be solely occupied with lighting his cigar, — 

“ My good fellow ! I mean to back you against the field 
yet for winning the heiress !” 

“ Alderby !” replied Mr. Grant, carelessly, “ how dare you 
presume to mention Miss Fitz-Patrick’s name with such a 
mouthful of smoke ! It is a most unlover-like piece of dis- 
respect, and would be resented accordingly if she knew it I 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


190 


I observe you never think, nor speak of her but as ‘the 
heiress yet even a comparative stranger, as you are, might 
see that her richest gifts are not in her estates. I estimate 
her simply as Eleanor Fitz-Patrick, whom from her earliest 
childhood I have known — whom I still admire — and whom 
once I loved.” 

“Once! — you mean once for all, then, I suppose?” an- 
swered Lord Alderby, laughing, while he closely watched 
Mr. Grant’s countenance. “ Can I forget how you raved 
long ago about dark hair and hazel eyes, and an undying at- 
tachment! We were all wearied of Eleanor Fitz-Patrick’s 
name before she came out. Every picture you saw abroad 
was like her — no beauty that I pointed out could be com- 
pared to her. You carved her name upon trees and tomb- 
stones — called a dog after her — and sung nothing but ‘ Nora 
Criena’ forever, so that my very ears used to ring with it. 
That was all absurd enough at the time, but is likely to turn 
out well now, since it gives you the start of us.” 

“ Alderby, you mistake me!” replied Mr. Grant, with un- 
usual seriousness. “ The revival of these stories only serves 
to show more strongly what a contrast there is between past 
aud present feelings — how great, no one but myself can ever 
know; but that is past. You, and others whom I could 
name, are brought to the feet of Eleanor Fitz-Patrick by the 
very circumstance which places a gulf between us, and I 
shall never attempt to pass it.” 

“ That sounds amazingly fine — quite chivalrous !” an- 
swered Lord Alderby, incredulously. “ But, Grant, we all 
know what human nature is. Your estates lie contiguous 
— they ought to be united ; your stud requires to be en- 
larged ” 

“ Alderby ! whenever you judge of vie by yourself, you 
cannot fail to be mistaken,” said Mr. Grant, resuming his 
wonted tone of careless vivacity. “ I am jealous of my in- 
dependence, and shall never marry any woman whose for- 
tune is superior to my own. It would put me frantic to 
hear any wife of mine talking in the way heiresses do, about 
‘ my’ carriage, ‘ my 1 house, and ‘ my’ establishment. I could 
not stand that — no, not even from Miss Fitz-Patrick ! Seri- 
ously, however, there are some things changed in her al- 
ready, which will make me envy less than I should have 
once done the man who gains her. I wish to set this sub* 
ject quite at rest between us now, and therefore let me say 


200 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


that such an attachment as mine was requires to be preserved 
by entire approbation.” 

“ Then, my dear fellow, if you are become so fastidious, 
why not retire from the field, leaving it open to us? I 
never could understand such Platonic friendship, which 
never exists upon both sides, you may depend upon it ! Why 
are you carrying on such a vehement flirtation at this very 
hour with Miss Fitz-Patrick, that not another soul in the 
house can speak to her ? Am I expected to believe that it 
is not on your own account ?” 

“ Most potent, grave, and reverend senior ! you may 
believe this, that, if there be truth in man, neither Miss 
Fitz-Patrick nor I entertain ‘ any intentions,’ as the usual 
phrase is. We have always enjoyed a little lively persiflage 
together, but there is no deeper sentiment on either side 
now.” 

“ I am not so sure of that,” muttered Lord Alderby, in an 
undertone. 

“ When any one appears, whom I think deserving of Miss 
Fitz-Patrick, you shall then see me retire, and act the part 
of a brother to her,” continued Mr. Grant, in a tone of feel- 
ing and sincerity. “ I know myself to be capable of it, and I 
shall. Eleanor Fitz-Patrick’s happiness can never be in- 
different to me, and though I seek not to be intrusted with 
the care of it now, I fervently desire to see it committed to 
one who deserves her. Excuse me, Alderby, but your mo- 
tives are not satisfactory, if there were not other objections. 
Douglas might merit her, and I should gladly have resigned 
Miss Fitz-Patrick to the man whom, above all others on 
earth, I respect and like ; but he is evidently occupied with 
a different object. In short, till some one starts up, who can 
love Miss Fitz-Patrick as I did , and who possesses the rank 
and fortune which I want, you may expect to see me act as 
her guardian.” 

u A very competent one truly !” said Lord Alderby, evi- 
dently piqued ; u quite a dog in the manger. I had no idea 
you were bitten with sentimentality !” 

“ I have a tinge of what you would call romance in my dis- 
position naturally, though every endeavor has been used of 
late to extinguish it, and, let me hope, with some success.” 

“ Douglas !” said Lord Alderby, turning to Sir Alfred, 
who was lounging behind, u we were wondering that you are 
not more diligent in canvassing for the good graces of the 
heiress.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


201 


tl X have more than enough of canvassing on my hands 
already, and one election will satisfy me. Some people might 
like to be deafened with wit, and stunned with accomplish- 
ments ; but a fireside upon my plan would not suit so very 
brilliant a young lady as Miss Fitz-Patrick.” 

“ She is the grand prize in the lottery of life,” persisted 
Lord Alderby, “and unlike most girls of fortune, she is 
neither red-haired nor deformed, but curiously beautiful !" 

11 So she may be, but I never admire professed beauties, 
with that sort of ‘ \o6k-at-me 1 air,” replied Sir Alfred, taking 
the arm of Mr. Grant, and walking away. “ Life is not a 
mere party of pleasure, or it might signify little whom we 
passed it with ; but you know my opinions, Grant, already, 
and that they govern my actions in every event of life. How 
much more shall they do so while forming that solemn en- 
gagement in which it may almost be said, that the happiness 
of both worlds is at stake !” 


202 


MODERN SOCIETY. 


_ CHAPTER XIV. 


Oh, I would walk 

A weary journey — to the farthest verge 
Of the big world, to see that good man’s form, 

Who, in the blaze of wisdom and of art, 

Preserves a lowly mind, and to his God, 

• Feeling the sense of his own littleness, 

Is as a child in meek simplicity. 

Kirke White, 

Matilda having -understood that the unfortunate Nanny 
was at once removed from Barnard Castle, and carried with- 
out warning or preparation into the presence of her aged 
mother, felt anxiously desirous to ascertain how the good old 
woman had borne so sudden a shock, and she determined to 
lose no time in making her inquiries at Gowanbank, with a 
hope of ascertaining some way in which the sorrows of that 
once cheerful cottage could be mitigated. Having stated 
the case fully to Dr. and Miss Murray, they instantly pro- 
posed, as she expected and wished, to accompany her there, 
without delay, expressing an anxious hope that it might be 
possible to give assistance as well as comfort to both mother 
and daughter, in a case of difficulty and distress which so 
greatly needed both. 

Nothing could be a nearer approach to perfect happiness 
than the feelings of Matilda, as she proceeded along the 
beautiful green path which led towards her destination. 
The glowing benevolence of her own mind, which expanded 
with every emotion of charity and kindness, the overflowing 
good-humor of Miss Murray, and the pleasing tone of intel- 
lectual elevation with which Dr. Murray conversed upon 
every subject which was most interesting, all combined with 
the bright sunshine and the varying landscape, to give her a 
feeling of unqualified delight; while present gratification led 
her to contrast it all with the artificial manners, the exagger- 
ated expressions, the petty treachery, and the carelessness 
of each other’s real thoughts and feelings which pervaded 
the party she had recently left. It was impossible to asso- 
ciate an hour with Dr. Murray and not feel the head and 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


203 


heart improved by his deep knowledge of human nature and 
of divine things. The more exalted might be the subject of 
contemplation, the more did his mind rise to explore it, for 
difficulties were to him like the breeze against the breast of 
the eagle, which only makes it soar the higher. Few subjects 
within the compass of human investigation remained in 
doubt or in darkness when he had thoroughly discussed them. 
His case was always clearly stated, and he brought to bear 
upon it, with readiness and precision, the whole mass of his 
extensive reading, while many things of which Matilda had 
desired an explanation, were given with such perfect clear- 
ness, and in such a portable compass, that they could never 
be afterwards forgotten or confused. Dr. Murray’s knowl- 
edge seemed only estimated by himself according as it could 
aid him to make wise the simple. In illustrating the anal- 
ogies of nature and of grace, in showing how we may dis- 
cover the same almighty power and wisdom in the least and 
in the greatest of God’s creatures, and in proving how his 
works and his word reflect upon each other a mutual light, 
Dr. Murray spoke with the mild authority of profound intel- 
lect, without pedantry, without affectation, without a thought 
but of recalling to his own heart, and impressing on his com- 
panions, all that might direct their affections towards the 
omnipotent and bountiful Creator. 

“ It seems strange,” said Dr. Murray, in answer to a re- 
mark of his sister’s, “ that there really are persons who can 
live amidst the great and marvellous works of God, without 
asking themselves who created this stupendous theatre, and 
for what purpose we are brought to act a part in it. I have 
often pitied the situation of ancient heathen philosophers, 
who vainly speculated throughout a long and laborious life 
to discover whence they came and whither they were going. 
No doubt seems ever to have remained on their minds that 
our spirits are immortal, yet their wonder seems only to have 
been raised in order to be baffled ; and how awful must have 
been the feeling of such meditative minds in watching the 
final departure of a soul, and in asking themselves on what 
unknown scenes it was about to enter, whither they them- 
selves must so speedily follow !” 

” Yes,” replied Matilda, “ I have sometimes been aston- 
ished that such persons retained their senses. Ordinary 
minds, to whom the every day occurrences of life are suffi- 
cient, seem in little danger of insanity ; but those who pos- 
sess deep feelings and meditative spirits, without the guid' 


204 


MODERN 60CIETY, 


ance of revealed truth, must have ofteu sustaiued great 
agitation, and it is easy to trace in the writings of heathen 
sages, what a state of torturing perplexity they lived in, re- 
specting the enigma of their own existence.” 

u But,” added Dr. Murray, “ the knowledge which those 
learned philosophers were so darkly groping after, is revealed 
to us in a blaze of light, and men will scarcely attend to it. 
All we have to learn of our eternal relation to the great 
Creator, is so plainly laid down for us now, that he who runs 
may read. — but how few will pause one moment to reflect 
upon it ! His majesty and power were always inscribed in the 
canopy of heaven, and in the glorious scenes around our 
path ; but that which connects man with his Maker, by the 
ties of everlasting confidence and love, can only be found in 
Holy Scripture. Yet, nature and revelation are studied, as 
anatomists examine the body, without attending to the living 
Spirit which alone gives life and energy to all, and by the 
eye of faith only can we see what is precious and important 
in both. The Bible was writen not for giants in logic, but 
for babes in Christ, and the earth was created not merely as 
a curious problem for philosophers to investigate, but as a 
platform on which Christians are to rehearse the virtues 
which shall be perfected for them in a better and holier 
world.” 

“ It seems melancholy indeed,” observed Matilda, “ that 
those who penetrate deepest into the wonders of nature, and 
into the mysteries of doctrine, are often so occupied with in 
tellectual discovery, that they forget in all humility to adora 
the omnipotent Creator himself, and to recognize Him in the 
multitude of His works.” 

“ Yet, if man never had been, and never was to become 
otherwise than he is, what a fleeting, insignificant, and pain 
ful dream would this life, at its best, be considered by those 
who reflected at all ! But none who study the Christian 
revelation and their own nature, can fail to be convinced that 
man must have been originally created great in intellect and 
virtue, proportioned in dignity to the glorious universe by 
which he is encompassed ; that we are now but a desolated 
ruin of what once was ; and that, after a transient season of 
trial, degradation, and sorrow, we shall again be raised to 
that rank after which our fallen nature so ardently aspires. 
If it were otherwise, — if our hearts were vainly to pant after 
knowledge, happiness, and virtue, without a hope of their 
ever being perfected in a better dW \ and if all the affection^ 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


205 


emotions, and hopes, which support us through the sorrows 
of life, were in a few short years to be annihilated — then 
indeed we might envy, as Colonel Gardiner did, the existence 
of his dog, ‘because it could neither reflect nor feel.’ ” 

“ I am sure many unbelievers must think the* same,” said 
Miss Murray ; “ and I remember many years ago being im- 
pressed with this conviction, when we heard of the Tom 
Paine Club, and were told of that remarkable circumstance, 
which has been so frequently since mentioned, respecting it, 
that both the president and secretary shot themselves.” 

“ It is indeed a wonderful proof of our depraved nature, 
that men can be found who would desire to level themselves 
with the brutes that perish, and to argue themselves out of 
their own immortality ; but it is ‘ the wish that is father to 
the thought they prefer darkness to light, for very obvious 
reasons, and he who wishes to doubt may soon disbelieve 
anything. I read a pamphlet lately, very plausibly ar- 
gued, to prove that Bonaparte never existed, and all the 
usual objections were stated, which infidels bring against the 
evidence of revelation.” 

“ Some persons are apt,” observed Matilda, “ to make even 
the grandeur of creation an excuse for disbelieving the 
greatest work of all — the redemption of man. It seems so 
wonderful that He who made such a world of splendor 
should sacrifice His only Son for us, that they rashly pro- 
nounce it incredible, and therefore the magnitude of the 
benefit is an excuse for rejecting it altogether !” 

“ Yet observe what evidence we see all around of infinite 
care for our happiness ! — the very flowers that are strewed 
on every bank, the joyous carol of the birds in Spring, the 
loveliness of landscape scenery, and every unforbidden joy of 
man’s existence, speak of immeasurable love in the Almighty 
towards His creatures. We may confidently believe, then, 
that the everlasting felicity of millions is of such importance 
in His eye, that He mercifully planned for us what the heart 
of man could never have conceived. It is a mystery to be 
contemplated with wonder, love, and praise ; — on the right 
belief of which our eternal hope depends, which no man 
3an understand without the teaching of a divine Spirit, — 
and which we shall only comprehend in all its glory here- 
after. There are depths in our holy religion which men 
have lost their souls by denying, and which they may lose 
their senses by endeavoring fully to understand !” 

11 Yes !” said Miss Murray ! “ and such religion as we shall 


206 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


meet with to-day in old Janet’s cottage, is often more influ 
ential on the heart and feelings than that of many a learned 
divine.” 

u True !” replied he, u there are philosophers who could 
speak oif-hand without effort a perfect Bridgewater Treatise 
on the evidences of Almighty power in the structure of the 
universe, — and there are clergymen who can sprinkle over 
every page of Scripture new definitions and amended transla- 
tions from the original ; — but if I were to choose between 
the head or the heart, — though both may certainly be en- 
lightened. I would prefer the simple belief of a day-laborer, 
who sees in the stars above his head nothing more glorious 
than in the lamps along the street, to that of the profoundest 
philosopher — the simple belief of a cottager, who knows only 
Christ, and him crucified, to the most intimate acquaintance 
with the Syriac, Greek, and Hebrew text.” 

“ It was once remarked,” said Matilda, u that the idea of a 
school-boy, who has learned to know that the earth is round, 
must be very inferior in sublimity to that of a wandering 
Arab, who believes in an unlimited world, and an unmeasur- 
able sea. Yet I think, Dr. Murray, you must have many 
pleasing emotions in your own mind, to prove how much 
more elevated is the devotion of a cultivated intellect, amidst 
the wonders of creation and redemption, than the simple ad- 
miration and gratitude of an uninstructed heart. The poet 
says, ‘ an undevout astronomer is mad and you know better 
than I can imagine, how the thoughts are expanded by a 
knowledge of that stupendous creation, where c worlds on 
worlds compose one universe.’ ” 

u It is only where the head acts instead of the heart, and 
where men observe the heavens without preparing to go 
there, that I would deprecate learning ; for a study of truth 
in every department of science or knowledge will but serve 
to exhibit its consistency and connection with the fountain 
of all truth ; and the higher the intellect of man is raised, 
the more glorious will be his conceptions of Almighty power, 
till, like Job, he learns to say, ‘ The more I consider, the 
more I fear God.’ ” 

Dr. Murray’s eye kindled with animation, and he looked 
above and around him with an expression so full of devo- 
tion and reverence, that it almost seemed as if he saw the 
visible presence of Him who shall be know in His works, 
and whose power may be traced in the light that shines on 
our path, and in the very air that we breathe. “ Yes !” added 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


207 


he, “ there are hours of holy meditation, which appear like 
a foretaste of the joy that shall hereafter be revealed ; — but 
there are seasons, too, of sorrow and humiliation, to remind us 
that the tempest-tossed vessel is yet at sea, and the haven 
only in sight.” 

“I have often thought,” said Matilda, “how very different 
must be the anticipation of heaven formed by various indi- 
viduals, according to their habits and capacities of thinking. 
We each hope at some time to be admitted there, and few 
have passed through many years without attempting in some 
degree to conceive that state to which all are hastening. 
Bishop Hall remarks, that an impenitent sinner would feel 
as much out of his element in heaven as a toad in a king’s 
palace ; yet every one expects to go there, and probably 
most minds form an idea of what might be anticipated in 
that state of perfect happiness. A laborer, worn out with 
the toils of his daily task, will meditate most on the promise 
of eternal rest, where there shall be no more labor, nor sor- 
row ; while the man of science could scarcely imagine any 
gratification apart from mental exertion, and will joyfully 
anticipate the time when 1 increase of knowledge’ shall no 
longer be 1 increase of sorrow’ ; for he shall live with Him 
in whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom, and whose 
perfections will flow on before his adoring contemplation, 
like a ceaseless stream. And those who are now delighting 
in the pleasures of benevolence, or in the intercourse of 
friendship, must be desirous to believe that in a state of un- 
clouded joy, such blessed feelings of the heart will not be 
absent.” 

“ I think we are warranted in Scripture to conceive as 
vividly the happiness of heaven as the terrors of hell, and to 
exercise our minds in seeking a knowledge of what is revealed 
on that subject, though not positively to conclude that we 
are infallibly right.” 

“ Many Christians feel satisfied,” replied Matilda, “ with 
that important text which declares, that 1 eye hath not seen, 
nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man 
the things which God hath prepared for them that love 
Him.’ ” 

“ Yet,” said Dr. Murray, “ we must not forget the 
verse which comes next : ^ But God hath revealed them to us , 
by His Spirit.’ The passage which follows enjoins Chris- 
tians to ‘ know the things that are freely given to them of 
God and I am convinced it engenders a feeling of indiffer- 


208 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


ence not to realize in some degree the conception of that life 
which we shall one day enjoy, and which we now desire. 
In attempting to give precision to our thoughts on this 
solemn subject, let us pray for understanding to know 
as much as is revealed, while we are preserved from pry- 
ing into more, for ‘ secret things belong unto the Lord’ ; but 
at the same time ‘ He has brought life and immortality to 
light.’ ” 

“ It appears,” observed Matilda, “ as if the Bible pre- 
sented a map of heaven, on which are drawn in distinct out- 
lines what shall be enjoyed hereafter ; and Christians may 
confidently anticipate, that on entering the New Jerusalem, 
we shall be ready to say, as the Queen of Sheba did when 
she heard the wisdom of Solomon, ‘ The half was not told 
me.’ ” 

“ If a full revelation of Heaven in all its glory were made, 
how could any one endure a present life ?” said Dr. Murray. 
“We should feel like a man who fixed his eyes on the blaz- 
ing sun, and then attempted to look at the scenery around. 
The whole would appear dim and distorted. But though it 
be a presumptuous and an impossible attempt to realize ah 
that is promised, and often difficult in Scripture to distin- 
guish what is allegorical from what is real, yet many things 
are told of that ‘ place’ which Christ has gone to prepare.” 

“ I often think,” said Matilda, “ that much of the indiffer- 
ence which prevails in this world about a future state may 
be traced to the vagueness of our conceptions respecting its 
enjoyments, for few people fully consider how much is im- 
plied in the promises of revelation, with which our natures, 
even as they are now constituted, can have sympathy and 
connection. I remember, as a child, when any of my juve- 
nile indulgences particularly delighted me, I frequently 
asked the nursery-maid if there would be pleasures similar 
to these in Heaven ; but her invariable answer was, of course, 
in the negative ; yet she might have added much to fill my 
mind with joyful anticipation, instead of the blank disap- 
pointment which her unqualified ‘no’ occasioned me. I 
think Christians often treat men of the world in a similar 
way. They tell, what is really true, that no sinful pleasures 
shall be there, but they forget to add those blessed hopes for 
hereafter which our Bibles hold out to all whom the Spirit 
shall fit and prepare.” 

“ True,” replied Dr. Murray. ‘ It is impossible to speak 
or to think of them too much, for they are described contin 


OK THE MARCH OF INHs^LEOi. 


209 


nally as motives to our love and obedience, which we ought 
to see and to appreciate, in order that we may pursue them 
diligently. The grateful and adoring contemplation of per- 
fect holiness, and of infinite glory, will be the first and chief 
theme of every Christian’s delight, when seeking to join in 
'that eternal anthem of praise which St. John, in his mortal 
state, could not learn, though he heard it, and which St. 
Paul, when caught up into the third heaven, declared that 
it was not possible for man to utter. In a form such as our 
own, we shall then behold the merciful Author of our Re- 
demption, and feel, in His presence, that the gratitude and 
love which are now but faint and occasional, can be continu- 
ally exercised without effort, and without fear of diminution. 
Our praise, too, will be unmingled with sorrow, and unin- 
jured by any remaining consciousness of sin, to mar that 
confidence and joy with which we shall stand before a benig- 
nant Saviour. The reunion of sisters, friends, and brethren, 
when we are 1 gathered to our fathers ,’ will be a meeting of 
unalloyed delight ; for then every eye will be kindled with 
the same feelings of adoration, and every look will be one of 
sympathy and love. We read that St. Paul expected his 
converts to be ‘ a crown of joy and of rejoicing’ in the pres- 
ence of their Saviour, which gives a blessed confidence that 
the minister and his people shall not then forget their mu- 
tual ties. As St. Peter knew the glorified spirits of Moses 
and Elias, we may hope at once to distinguish the patriarchs 
and saints whose memory we reverence now ; and as St. 
Paul forbade Christians to grieve like those who have no hope, 
who can doubt that it was because our lost friends were to 
be restored to us ? David also comforted himself for the 
departure of his child by the prospect of going to him, and 
Dives is represented as recognizing Abraham. We read, 
too, that the rich man in Hell wished to save his brethren 
from so wretched a fate, and if there be brotherly love even 
there, what must it be amidst the society of just men made 
perfect ; for who can question that the graces and virtues 
which we are commanded to exercise now, will hereafter find 
an abundant field for exercise ? Those who have been faith- 
ful over few things shall be rulers over many things, which 
is a promise that implies active employment when men be- 
come, as we are told they shall, ‘ kings and priests unto God.’ 
The bodies which we now wear shall then be restored to us, 
and in the new heavens and the new earth which are to be 
^ur blessed abode, how often will men look back, with d ; a- 


210 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


tinct recollection, on their past existence, and acknowledge, 
with adoring admiration and gratitude, the infinite wisdom 
which caused every event of life to work together for their 
good, and which led them, blind, and faint, and wilful, as 
we all are, safe through the dangers and temptations of a 
thorny path, to the green pastures and the still waters of 
that better country, where the sun always shines, and where 
the joy is without measure and without end !” 

Dr. Murray walked on for some time in silence, and Ma- 
tilda did not interrupt him. There are thoughts too solemn 
for utterance, and there are emotions too profound for the 
ear of another. It became evident that his mind was deliv 
ered up to the boundless contemplation of futurity, and that 
his heart bore testimony to the language of his lips when he 
spoke of its incomparable importance, and of the grateful de 
light with which a Christian can forget every intermediate 
care of an earthly existence, and satisfy himself with the con 
fident hope of a sinless and tearless eternity. When they 
approached within sight of Gowanbank, however, he seemed 
at once to call his mind back from the pleasures of medita 
tion to the business and duty of the present hour. 

“ Mine has been a life of unusual peace,” said he, “ with 
none of those nearer ties which produce the keenest emotion;! 
of joy and of sorrow. Those few real afflictions which have 
fallen to my lot are so tempered by consolation that they 
scarcely deserve the name ; but I have seen enough, in my 
sympathy for others, and in such worldly grief as Providence, 
in His wisdom, has ordained for myself, to prove that it is, 
indeed, better to visit the house of mourning than the house 
of feasting, and I trust that in administering comfort here 
we shall still find cause to say so.” 

Matilda could not but think how differently Dr. Murray’s 
society would be appreciated in the house which they were 
now about to enter, from what she had seen it previously at 
Barnard Castle ; and as she considered how he had been for- 
gotten and overlooked amidst the gay revelry of those whom 
they had recently left, while she knew how his presence was 
hailed as the harbinger of consolation to many a desolated 
heart, she almost thought that such estimation as the ser- 
vant of God received in these contrasted scenes of prosperity 
and adversity, might fairly illustrate the comparative im- 
portance in which they teach men to hold that Great Master 
whose cause Dr. Murray felt continually desirous to promote. 

Old Janet met Matilda at the door, and made a faint en- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


211 


deavor to assume her usual smile of hospitable welcome, but 
the words she would have spoken died on her lips ; and 
turning hastily away, with a faltering step she preceded 
them into the cottage, where Martha sat, with her sister’s 
hand in her own, and her eyes despondingly bent on the 
ground. 

If ever there lived a heart which vibrated to every tone 
of human suffering, it was that of Dr. Murray, who only 
showed he had inwardly felt what grief is, by the deep ex- 
perience with which he could talk to others of its consola- 
tions. Yet, accustomed as he had long been to scenes and 
sights of wo, he paused, in silent pity and astonishment, 
when they entered and beheld the desolating effects of men- 
tal agony. There is a fable of Niobe having been turned 
into stone by extreme anguish, which seems true to nature, 
whenever we behold the consequences of sudden calamity. 
Tears characterize a gentle feeling, but the blanched cheek, 
the sunk eye, and t ie parched lip of Nanny, mournfully 
testified that grief, like an ice-bolt, had entered into her 
heart, and paralyzed her senses. She crouched on a low 
seat, motionless as death, her hair dishevelled over her face, 
and her eye fixed on vacancy, without the slightest evidence 
of observing what passed around. It appeared, indeed, that 
“ her beauty had consumed away,” and as Matilda looked at 
her, with speechless emotion, it seemed as if years must 
have passed since she had beheld that haggard countenance 
in all the bloom of youth. 

After many vain efforts to attract her notice, Nanny at 
length looked up, with a strange ghastly smile, at Matilda, 
until, after some moments, a dawn of recollection seemed 
struggling into her mind, and beckoning her forward, she 
whispered in a low bewildered tone, pointing to old Janet — 

“ Speak to her ! — Tell her it was untrue! — We’ll not let 
Martha know that I cared about him! — Who put all those 
things in the flower-stand ? Oh ! don’t say it was me !” 

“Nanny !” said Dr. Murray, in a tone of mild authority, 
which attracted her instant attention, “ there is a day coming 
when the secrets of all hearts shall be laid open. Those 
who are unfairly accused will then be acquitted, and any 
one who has told a falsehood against his neighbor shall be 
known and punished. I believe, when that hour comes, that 
your mother, your sister, and all of us who believe you to be 
innocent, will then rejoice in hearing the real truth. But 
there are many unfounded stories, and many evil reports in 


212 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


this world, and we must not break our hearts if they rise up 
against ourselves. You should be comforted when unjustly 
accused, by feeling in your own heart that it actually is un- 
true, and that you were never really tempted to do what is 
said. We commit sins every day, which are known only to 
God, and not to man — how much better it is if the Almighty 
sees we are not guilty, when man suspects that we are. 
Every sorrow in life is light and easy to endure in compari- 
son of remorse : but a wounded spirit who can bear ? We 
must value our good name and character in the world more 
than any mere earthly blessing ; but still even that may be 
taken from us by the wisdom of Him who knows what is 
good for every one. Let us then be ready to suffer, though 
it were worse than death itself, not considering the loss as 
an accident, nor as the fruit of malice, but as the merciful 
correction of a Father, who knows what is best. It would 
be better, certainly, to weep for a short season and live for- 
ever, than to rejoice in that mirth which is as the crackling 
of thorns under a pot, and ends in quick destruction. By 
the loss of friends, and the treachery of enemies, or in any 
way that may be surest, oh ! who would not desire, on what- 
ever terms, to be fitted for that country where no enemy ever 
entered, and from whence no friend shall ever go away !” 

Dr. Murray continued his address, from time to time, in 
the soothing accents of kindness and pity, while Nanny 
seemed to listen ; but it was difficult to say how far her 
mind followed his meaning, for she appeared stunned and 
stupefied, without the power to express emotion, or to reflect 
on anything but the weight of her own sorrow. Old Janet 
watched her countenance with intense anxiety, till at length 
she shook her head despondingly, and turned away, while 
tears started into Martha’s eyes ; but when Dr. Murray at 
length proposed that they should unite in prayer, Nanny 
looked around with sudden recollection, and then slowly, 
with an air of deep solemnity and devotion, sunk upon the 
ground, and buried her face on her mother’s knee, while she 
clasped her hands together with convulsive energy. 


OH THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


213 


CHAPTER XV. 


I’ll introduce you : Gentlemen ! my friend. 

Crabbe. 


“ Eleanor !” cried Sir Richard, entering next day, when 
the whole party were gathered merrily round a blazing fire 
and fixing a look of sly humor on his daughter, “ I have 
charming news for you ! — My good friend and kinsman, 
M 1 Tartan, has met with an accident on the road ; and whether 
it be a spring broken, or a fractured limb, is, I am aware, all 
one to you, since it must inevitably postpone his arrival here. 
Rut,” added the Baronet, drawing a long breath, and trying 
to assume some appearance of gravity, “ he has very stupidly 
forwarded this foreign Count of his, who may probably ar- 
rive in an hour. It will be an unspeakable bore, because my 
French is not in good repair now, and he speaks no English.” 

“Delightful!” exclaimed Eleanor. “You know, papa, 
how I doat upon foreigners, so make him over entirely to my 
care. It wanted but this to make me completely happy ! — 
how enchanting it will be to have him for a partner this 
evening !” 

“ I have no objection, provided you don’t take him as a 
partner for life !” replied her father, with a look of irrepress- 
ible glee, which seemed quite unaccountable to Matilda. 
“ These foreigners are all so handsome, and so insinuating, 
that they invariably carry off our heiresses now ; and if I had 
foreseen that you were to become the laird here, your honor 
should never have been allowed to learn one syllable of 
French !” 

“ Oh ! how barbarous, papa ! I would rather relinquish 
my mother tongue ; and if the Count speaks only Italian, 
that would be irresistible.” 

“ I always feared this,” continued Sir Richard, trying to 
look very serious ; “ we Englishmen have no chance in a 
drawing-room, when foreigners, with nine syllables to their 
names, like Count Constantine Ecatrinoslav, arise and shine 
in our hemisphere. I must ring for Martin directly, to give 


214 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


him a lesson of pronunciation, that he may announce oul 
visitor properly. It will take some hours’ practice at least, 
to make him perfect; and Monsieur le Comte will arrive 
immediately, for, as Shakspeare says, 

‘ By the pricking of my thumbs, 

Something wicked this way comes !’ ” 

“What is he like?” asked Major Foley, turning towards 
the mirror, and pulling up his neckcloth. “ You have seen 
him, I suppose ?” 

“ Why, no. I never was in company with Count Con- 
stantine ; but his description is set down here with a degree 
of accuracy, that might have done for a passport. Tall, 
dark hair, florid complexion, grey eyes, and so forth.” 

“ Has he mustachios ?” exclaimed Mr. Grant, clasping his 
hands, and assuming a look of agonizing suspense. 

“ Prodigious !” replied Sir Richard, laughing. 

“ Then we are all undone!” continued Mr. Grant, giving 
a glance of condolence to the other gentlemen, and sinking 
back on the sofa, in an attitude of despair. 

“ I am the last man on earth to be at all illiberal,” said 
Lord Alderby, in a pompous tone ; “but at the same time I 
hate all foreigners, and consider them most dangerous peo- 
ple in society.” 

“ I wish the Count, had staid in Siberia, for it freezes my 
very blood to think of him !” added Mr. Grant, laughing. 
“ Remember, Miss Fitz-Patrick, if he cuts me out of my seat 
next to you at dinner to-day, I shall be seen wandering round 
the table, with tears frozen in icicles from my eye-lashes, ac- 
cording to the fashion of his country.” 

“ A very melting sight indeed,” replied Eleanor. 

“ My hair would grow grey in a night with distress of 
mind !” continued Mr. Grant. 

“ Ah ! that happens to every person now, once in their 
lives ! — we never hear of any one becoming grey in the regular 
course of nature, but always some romantic history of its 
coming on in a few hours.” 

“ I dare say this Count that shall be nameless, because it 
really fatigues me to pronounce his endless designation, 
probably travels with a bear inside the carriage,” added Mr. 
Grant ; “ a monkey on the dicky ; smokes cigars all along 
the road ; and brings a hamper of the best train-oil with him 
to flavor M. Martigny’s sauces.” 

“ Eleanor has such a passion for everything foreign,” ob 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


215 


served Sii Richard, “ that I doubt if she will even obieet to 
that.” 

“ Not at all !” persisted she eagerly. “ My penchant for 
foreigners is incurable, they are all so agreeable. It is the 
only rule I know without a single exception.” 

“ He will play the pianoforte for you on Sundays,” con- 
tinued Sir Richard, slyly watching the effect of all he said ; 
“ and the Count performs charmingly on — on the Russian 
horn.” 

“ There must surely be some mistake here !” said Sir Al- 
fred, who had been listening for some time past to the con- 
versation with an air of perplexity and surprise. “ I once 
met Count Constantine Ecatrinoslav abroad ; and though he 
had not the honor of being introduced to me, yet I have a 
dim recollection ” 

“ Very dim indeed, I dare say,” cried Sir Richard, with a 
degree of brusquerie and eagerness which astonished Matilda 
not less than it evidently did Sir Alfred. “ He is amazingly 
altered of late, I am told, and that reminds me that I wish 
to consult you about the — the — the new kennel I am build- 
ing, so let us waste no more time in foreign affairs. By the 
way, we have not discussed the state of your canvass this 
morning yet,” added Sir Richard, hastily beckoning Sir Al- 
fred aside, who rather unwillingly followed. The two gentle- 
men continued in close conference for some time, while 
Matilda observed that the former seemed to be explaining 
something which infinitely diverted himself, while the hand- 
some and expressive countenance of his companion indicated 
a vain attempt at good-humored remonstrance, which ended 
in his giving a smile of unwilling acquiescence, and silently 
resuming his place amidst the joyous party round the fire. 

Eleanor’s impatient curiosity to see her foreign visitor was 
not destined to be of long duration, for Sir Richard entered 
the drawing-room about an hour afterwards, rubbing his 
hands with glee, and announcing that Count Constantine’s 
carriage had come in sight. “ It is extremely like the one 
you arrived in lately, Sir Alfred,” added he “ but only much 
handsomer 

“ He copies me, I have no doubt,” replied the baronet, 
dryly. “ There are a number of people who do, which is very 
inconvenient. The moment I get a new equipage, or even a 
new waistcoat, everybody starts one in imitation.” 

"Pray come to the window and look at him,” continued 
Sir Richard, eagerly. 


210 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ You had better bring him to look at me" answered Sir 
Alfred, rising as he spoke, and strolling up to his laughing 
host, who continued whispering and talking, until the door 
flew open, and Count Ecatrinoslav was duly announced. 

Sir Richard hastened forward with surprising cordiality, 
and Eleanor thought it the strongest proof she had ever 
witnessed of her father’s unbounded hospitality, that, with all 
his prejudice against foreigners, he welcomed their illustrious 
visitor with a truly English shake of the hand, expressive of 
the warmest cordiality. Not a word passed on either side, 
but he instantly led the Count all round,’ introducing him 
with great ceremony and respect to each individual of the 
assembled circle, while the newly-arrived stranger followed 
up these presentations by performing a profusion of bows. 
At every repetition of his name, he struck his heels together 
and clashed his spurs, while his hat was clasped to his heart 
and then waved to the very ground. Sir Alfreci vouchsafed 
to give only a very slight inclination of the head in reply, 
but when Mr. Grant’s turn came, he completely excelled 
Count Constantine in the number and profoundness of his 
salutations, till Matilda could scarcely refrain from laughing 
outright, to observe how rapidly the two gentlemen flitted 
from right to left, and from left to right, before each other. 

Eleanor’s eyes followed Count Constantine round the 
room with an expression of delighted approbation, because 
nothing could be more outrageously foreign than his whole 
dress and appearance. His face was let out through a 
parenthesis of enormous whiskers, while mustachios and 
patches were scattered over every part of his countenance 
where they could be supposed possible. A greatcoat, com- 
pletely lined with splendid sables and covered with frogs and 
tassels, was what he wore, with boots that seemed to raise 
him on tiptoe, the heels seemed so elevated, and several 
scraps of ribbon which were visible on his inner coat, ap- 
peared to indicate the existence of corresponding medals and 
orders, when he chose to make a display. After Eleanor 
had concluded the ceremony of receiving him, with all her 
natural grace, and more than her natural dignity, she turned 
to Mr. Grant, whispering in an undertone, u The Count 
looks quite like a hero !” 

Rather mock - heroic ! He is the very model of what 
would be admired among nursery-maids and boarding-school 
misses. Those Russians always wear ribbons of more va- 
rious colors than any tailor’s pattern-book, but your visitor 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


217 


must have distinguished himself in every battle that ever 
was fought, and acquired all the medals and orders that 
were ever invented. Shall I pierce my last shilling to-day, 
and hang it on a blue ribbon to my button-hole, in order to 
keep him in countenance V 1 

Eleanor now resolved to lose no time in making an entire 
monopoly of the interesting foreigner, and entered imme- 
diately upon a discussion of all the subjects which appeared 
most suitable, speaking at random, in French, with such ra- 
pidity and fluency, that scarcely an interval was allowed 
for the Count to give more than a bow and a shrug of reply. 
Upon her favorite principle of adaptation, she chose every 
topic in the most distant degree connected with Russia. 
The Emperor Paul, St. Petersburg, Countess Dashkoff, bear’s 
grease, sledges, palaces of ice, Marshal Blucher, Elizabeth of 
Siberia, the state of Poland, and a panorama of the burning 
of Moscow, which she asked her guest if he had seen in 
London. 

Putting his hand suddenly to his forehead, the Count 
turned away, and Matilda could not but think, for one mo- 
ment, that the convulsive working of his features looked al- 
most like laughter, till Sir Richard stepped hastily forward, 
and whispered to his daughter in a tone of indignant remon- 
strance, u My dear Eleanor, how can you be so cruelly 
thoughtless ? — ladies never have any reflection ! The Count 
lost on that occasion a splendid palace, plate, jewels, pic- 
tures, books ” 

u An old Russian-leather writing-case,” added Mr. Grant, 
in an undertone, “ and several very valuable pair of Russia 
ducks , which have never since been replaced.” 

“ How exquisitely agreeable he is,” exclaimed Eleanor, 
affectedly, when Count Constantine soon after sent for his 
foreign servant and left the room to see his baggage ar- 
ranged. 

I am not sensible that our friend has spoken above one 
or two monosyllables,” replied Sir Richard ; “ but that 
shows, my dear girl, the power of prejudice.” 

« Not at all ! I never saw a more romantic-looking man — 
such an air distingue — such perfect self-possession — so much- 
grace in his address ” 

“ I would rather not be asked my opinion of him,” said 
Mr. Grant. “ It may be prejudice, from the description we 
had of the personage who introduced Count Ecatrinoslav 
here ; but there certainly appears something very M’Tartan- 

10 


218 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


ish about him. I know a thorough-bred foreigner by in- 
stinct, and this is evidently some valet de place , who has mur- 
dered his master, and stolen his letters of recommendation.” 

“ How very malicious ! when we all know that you are dy- 
ing to be like him.” 

The last man on earth that any one could wish to re- 
semble, except in his power of pleasing you.” 

“ All envy and detraction ! I must positively leave the 
room, Mr. Grant, if you become so very censorious. In fact, 
the world is getting extremely ill-natured of late, and will 
soon be unfit for me to live in.” 

11 And if you were to depart, I am sure it would be fit for 
nobody else,” added Lord Alderby. 

“ Eleanor, can you be serious in thinking so much of the 
Count?” asked Sir Richard, stooping over a newspaper, so as 
to hide his face. “ My old protege, Donald M ‘Tartan, used 
to be fully better looking, were you only to see him with the 
same eyes.” 

“ If I became blind, there might then be no visible differ- 
ence ; but, papa, your favoritism of Captain M‘Tartan was 
an old grievance ages ago, and I am sorry to see it reviving.” 

“ If my good cousin had been handsome and agreeable, 
like this new importation from Petersburg, would you have 
received him as graciously ?” 

“ Quite ! I have actually no preference for foreigners, 
when our own people can learn to be equally agreeable,” re- 
plied she in a tone of lively persiflage. “ Let me announce, 
however, papa, to complete your horror, that this Count bids 
fair to become a special favorite of mine.” 

“ It is only to be hoped that the partiality is mutual,” said 
Sir Richard, dryly. 

“ Undoubtedly, as all Miss Fitz-Patrick’s partialities must 
be,” observed Lord Alderby, with a sigh that might have 
driven a man-of-war from its anchorage. 

“ Surely the Count has lost his way,” continued she, 
anxiously. “ Mr. Armstrong’s baggage had to be moved up 
another flight of stairs. I really am sorry not to have a 
better room at my disposal, for, though it might do very well 
for Captain M‘Tartan, yet ” 

“ Eleanor, you have exceeded my hopes,” exclaimed Sir 
Richard, slapping his hand on the table, and rising, with an 
explosion of laughter, which he seemed totally unable to con. 
trol, while the whole party looked on in silent amazement. 
A.s soon as he could command his voice, however, he added 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


219 


u I knew that it was impossible to expect a tolerable recep- 
tion for my friend the Captain, so we planned together a 
little agreeable coup de theatre , which has outdone my utmost- 
expectations. Count Ecatrinoslav was unexpectedly de 
tained for several days by an invitation to Windsor, but 
mean time allow me to introduce my cousin, Count Con- 
stantine M‘Tartan ! I did not intend to betray our secret 
for a month, but this opportunity becomes irresistible.” 

Sir Richard hurried, in an ecstasy of delight, to the en- 
trance-hall, and produced the ci-devant foreigner, who looked 
precisely as he did before, but with a laugh in his eye, which 
showed Eleanor at once how completely she had been im- 
posed upon. 

Matilda felt alarmed to anticipate what her cousin might 
say or do, for anger flashed in her countenance, and she was 
evidently irritated in the highest degree ; but before the 
sentence which rose to her lips could be uttered, she suddenly 
caught the calm, observant eye of Sir Alfred fixed upon her, 
and instantly became silent ; while Miss Howard, to fill up 
the pause, observed, in a soothing tone — 

“ VVe have been all completely taken in, Eleanor. Sir 
Richard can claim little credit for imposing on me, but it 
really must be allowed that the joke was excellently got up 
when it deceived you.” 

“ I know,” began Sir Colin, u a very curious circumstance 
of the kind which occurred to myself ” 

“ So do I !” interrupted Eleanor, instantaneously recov- 
ering her temper, and giving way to a hearty fit of laughter. 
11 Papa ! for this once I forgive you, and shall, moreover, 
generously add my congratulation on your success. Captain 
M : Tartan ! so you are as fond of masquerading as ever ! 
Now observe ! when you have been translated into English, 
I hereby retract all that was said after you entered this 
house, either in favor of the Count, or in disparagement of 
yourself. At the same time allow me to request that you 
will remain at Barnard Castle till your spirits have recov- 
ered the loss of your palace at Moscow, and of all the plate, 
pictures, jewels, and writing-cases. How could I be such a 
dupe ; but that was not the case either, for I guessed it all 
the time /” 

When Matilda had dressed for dinner, and was about to 
re-enter the drawing-room, she heard a new voice, and a 
ringing laugh of such uproarious vulgarity, that it puzzled 
her for a moment to conjecture who could perpetrate sounds 


220 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


bo out of keeping with the harmonious tone of the party in 
general ; but immediately afterwards she perceived Captain 
M‘Tartan, who had hitherto appeared only in dumbshow, 
standing upon the hearth-rug, in a perfect blaze of spirits, 
and addressing every one familial ly, whether he knew them 
or not. 

“ You’ve been in India, 1 suppose, Sir Colin % One 
may guess it by a little tinge of the pagoda in your com- 
plexion ; but six weeks at Cheltenham is infallible for the 
liver.” 

Sir Colin’s feeble attempts to deny this imaginary trip 
to the East, and the consequent aspersion on his liver, 
were drowned in the stentorian voice of his new acquaint- 
ance. 

“ I’ve seen officers come home that you might have coined 
their faces into gold ; and it was quite a benevolent pleasure 
to watch every day at the Wells, how they gradually cleared 
up. Fine Indian-looking city Cheltenham is ; by the way, 
you would suppose every Nabob had brought his own bun- 
galow from Calcutta and set it up there with verandahs and 
balconies complete — the walls, too, such a delicate color, they 
seem to be built of cream-cheese. A apropos , Fitz-Patrick, 
the yellow-fever broke out on board of us at Jamaica, and 
nearly sent me off to a foreign station — officers were dropping 
like nine-pins. Since then, we never saw a sight of land — 
forgot my geography entirely, but I’ve at last remembered 
my way here. You must teach me, Eleanor, to know a cow 
from a camel, and a man from a monkey.” 

“ I see very little difference myself sometimes ! but among 
all other oblivions, I perceive, Captain M> Tartan has not yet 
taken the trouble to forget my Christian name.” 

“ Ah ! for that matter, I know your name and date pretty 
gorrectly, Eleanor ! — we’ll not say how much twice nine 
makes, for I can keep a secret as well as another. Ladies 
never like their ages to be published, Lady Susan Danvers, 
so I ask no questions, that we may hear no untruths. Did 
I ever see any girl rise above twenty ! and old ladies stick 
at nine-and-forty for ten or a dozen years always ! For my 
part, as the Irish lady said , 1 I’m just the age of other people.’ 
So my old acquaintance Sir Alfred is here — he’s not a bad 
fellow, Douglas ! I really feel a regard for him — a little 
brusque or so occasionally, but has some very good points, 
when you know how to manage him — rather too shy, per- 
haps. Ah, my good friend ! speak of any one, and he starts 


OR THE MARCH OP INTELLECT. 


221 


ap directly. How goes all at Douglas Priory ?” said Cap- 
tain M‘ Tartan, advancing with extended hand to the Baro- 
net, who entered at that moment, and assuming that patron- 
izing air of encouragement which is always exhibited towards 
those who have the reputation of shyness. 

“Did you wish to see the Courier?” replied Sir Alfred, 
holding out some newspapers which were in his hand, and 
making a distant bow. 

Captain M>Tartan shrunk back, provoked, but not abashed. 

“Tell me, Eleanor, how shall we amuse ourselves this 
season ? I am your man for anything. A tableau of all 
work , or whatever pleases you ; but come what may, for bet- 
ter or for worse, I have hung up my hat here for three weeks 
at least !” 

“ I wish you would change places with it.” 

“No! no! Pm not come to that yet! You will never 
make a victim of me! We’ve known each other too long, 
Eleanor, so there can never be much love lost between us, 
though let me tell you that a certain gentleman, not many 
miles off, was immensely admired by the Russian ladies.” 

“ Every person is supposed to be admired who leaves 
home,” answered Eleanor. “ When any young lady goes to 
England, we are invariably assured by all her relations that 
she has been considered the greatest beauty in London. If 
she gets as far off as Borne, there are no bounds to what 
may be said ; — we are then generally told she is taken for 
Raphael’s Madonna, and mobbed wherever she appears. But 
when you talk of what people admire in Russia, I should 
imagine that Medusa might pass there for one of the Graces. 
A propos of those frozen regions, I. hope we shall enjoy an 
arctic climate for my skating-party to-morrow, when there 
must be no clouds either on the sky or the earth.” 

Next morning a bright, joyous, laughing sunshine, and a 
clear, hard frost, fulfilled Eleanor’s most sanguine hopes, 
and for once a party of pleasure assembled, unanimously 
declaring that the weather was beyond criticism. Loch 
Deveril glittered, like a broad expanse of mirror, in one 
resplendent field, and the whole surrounding country was 
clad in a winding-sheet of snow, when the cavalcade of 
britschskas, phaetons, pony-carriages, and riders, drew up 
along its margin, and the whole cortege alighted in a tumult 
of joyous excitement. 

Sir Alfred wrapped himself in a large cloak of sable fur, 
and leaned against the trunk of a tree, while several other 


222 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


gentlemen impatiently launched themselves on the ice. 
There is something characteristic in every action of a man ; !s 
life, whether it be his manner of sitting, standing, walking, 
danciug, entering a room, or even skating, and Eleanor felt 
amused for some time with watching and criticizing the dif- 
ferent conceptions of that art which were exhibited by vari- 
ous performers.. 

Captain M‘ Tartan displayed tremendous powers of velo- 
city, which contrasted well with the graceful evolutions of 
Mr. Grant, whose light and buoyant figure skimmed along 
as if he scarcely touched the ice, while Lord Alderby ap- 
peared, by his weight, to shake the whole surface of the lake. 

“ This is already marked down as one of the white days 
in my life !” cried Eleanor. “ Ah ! there goes Sir Colin ! 
slow, deliberate, and vascillating, like one of his own stories. 
Mr. Grant’s manoeuvres remind one of the maze at Hampton 
Court, where so many doublings and windings have been 
contrived, that we are always moving, but never advancing. 
I see he is waiting for us. Captain M'Tartan looks like a 
Dutch hulk in full sail! Now, Sir Alfred, what shall you 
and I dc?” 

“ One vowel at a time, if you please, Miss Eitz-Patrick, for 
that is all that either U or I ever profess to take care of.” 

“You must be the Scandinavian bear escaped from the 
Zoological Gardens, Sir Alfred, for that was precisely the 
answer he once made me on a similar occasion. Any one 
else in this world would have had his head turned forever, 
if I had so much as Dinted that his escort might be accept- 
able ” 

“We are both spoilt by adulation, Miss Fitz-Patrick.” 

“Will nobody take down your vanity! Positively, Sir 
Alfred, you grow more intolerable every day !” 

“ Do 1? — that is the very thing I desire !” 

“ Now, tell me, seriously, if one may venture to ask — are 
you supposed to have complete possession of your senses V’ 

“ I know only one or two people who have !” 

“ Mine would very soon be distracted with listening to 
such incredibilities, so good-bye, Sir Alfred ! I shall never 
see you again ! It is scarcely worth while to be a 1 lady in 
waiting’ for any one, while there stands a lord in waiting 
not far off.” She pointed to Lord Alderby, and slipping on 
ner skates, proceeded to join some more active members of 
the party, who were already at some distance, in gay and 
lively emulation of each other’s achievements. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


223 


“ As Ophelia says, £ What a noble mind is there o’er* 
thrown !’ ” observed Sir Alfred, watching Eleanor’s depart- 
ure, and addressing Matilda. “Your cousin always seems 
to me like a pianoforte all treble , with no full, deep tones in 
her character at all.” 

“Perhaps you might think otherwise, Sir Alfred, if 
Eleanor were in circumstances to call them forth. At the 
time of her poor mother’s death she suffered deeply, and no 
one would have thought her deficient in feeling then ; but 
amidst such scenes of festivity as she has lately enjoyed, 
there is little opportunity to judge of the heart, or to know 
whether people have any heart at all.” 

“ Your zealous defence of Miss Eitz-Patrick, for instance, 
is no evidence whether judgment or feeling is the strongest,” 
replied Sir Alfred, smiling at Matilda’s warmth. “ But 
could a mind of any sensibility be satisfied with mere 
amusement, in which every serious reflection, and every 
kind impulse, is for the present laid aside ! Could you ?” 
asked he, at once resuming a tone of confidential intimacy. 
“ No, Miss Howard ! I read the answer in your countenance, 
for we are both convinced that there is a sphere of thought, 
of feeling, and of enjoyment, which the world knows not of, 
and which, nevertheless, no one can be happy without having 
tried, in a way that your brilliant cousin has never yet done. 
Nothing amuses me more than her air when she enters the 
room, which looks as much as to say, i Here is Miss Fitz- 
Patrick, of Barnard Castle, who can neither think, say, nor 
do a single thing that should not be watched and admired.’ 
One might fancy, from her look sometimes, that she expected 
to be received with three rounds of applause.” 

“ Sir x\lfred !” replied Matilda, archly, “ if we were to 
judge of every one from appearances, I have heard some- 
thing very like that said of somebody else.” 

“ I dare say you have ! The truth is, Miss Howard, for 
I wish to conceal nothing from you , that my reserve seems 
unconquerable, except towards the very few whom I trust 
entirely ; and I care for no familiar intercourse with any one 
whose sentiments are not in some degree similar to my own. 
As most pleasures appear to be greater when clandestine, 
so, in my deepest emotions, it often gives them a profounder 
zest to think that they are known only by those friends who 
have my most sacred confidence. 1 shall never be slow to 
acknowledge opinions and principles, where it seems right to 
do so, for they are my highest honor ; but in proportion to 


224 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


my reverence for holy things, is my apprehension of hearing 
them hackneyed in ordinary conversation, as a subject for 
mawkish sentiment or idle gossip.” 

“ I quite agree with you, Sir Alfred, in disliking a super- 
ficial interchange of unfelt truths, and all that mere jargon 
which people sometimes talk in society now ; but yet it ap- 
pears to me a matter of duty, openly to acknowledge such 
convictions as are inwardly felt, that we may not seem 
ashamed of them.” 

“I certainly do encourage rather a morbid sensibility in 
that respect, but the moment any man publicly declares his 
attachment to serious religion he becomes liable to a thou- 
sand deceptions. All those who have any object to gain by 
pleasing him, adapt their conversation to his supposed incli- 
nations, so, that in the forming of friendships, and of all 
nearer ties, he is apt to be misled and disappointed. Re- 
ligion is the fashion now, rather than an object of persecution, 
as formerly, and my friend Leicester warned me once of 
what he had to undergo, after it became generally known 
that he withdrew from the world, on Christian principles. 
Each lady or gentleman who wished for his confidence, pro- 
fessed an inclination to do likewise, but for some cruel neces- 
sity which prevented it. They all agreed to his opinions, 
were convinced by his arguments, felt all he had felt, read 
what he recommended, subscribed to his favorite charities, 
and, in short, made him their counsellor and confessor. Every 
one can talk so fluently, and read so much, that he seemed 
to live in an atmosphere of profession without principle, and 
my good friend soon had really little else to do than listen 
to the eloquence of those whose practice was entirely incon- 
sistent with that knowledge they were so ready so display.” 

u It is certainly singular what a general familiarity pre- 
vails in every company, with the doctrines and feelings of 
religion. You never encounter any one in society now who 
is not able and willing to discuss that subject in an interest- 
ing manner ; and though there are not many to whom it is 
the first object in life, scarcely an individual I ever converse 
with, does not make it the second , to be promoted at some 
future time to its proper place.” 

“ There is pain in associating with those who are entirely 
ignorant of religion, but still more in hearing those who 
know their Master’s will, and evidently do it not. I have 
seen your cousin talk like a bishop to Dr. Murray, when the 
whim takes her, and if it were understood that the subject 


OR THE MARCH OF. INTELLECT. 


225 


is one of more than common interest for me, even my friend, 
Miss Charlotte Clifford, might get up a few suitable questions 
and remarks.” 

“ By allowing yourself to become so fastidious, may not 
many opportunities be lost, Sir Alfred, of usefulness to others, 
and gratification to yourself? I have often felt agreeably 
surprised in talking to friends, on finding that the subject 
excited more interest, and that their sentiments were really 
more serious than might have been anticipated. With re- 
spect to Eleanor, she had early advantages, of which, I trust 
and believe, we shall yet see the fruits.” 

“ No one can be otherwise than amused by her vivacity ; 
but Miss Fitz-Patrick’s entire want of sympathy and kind- 
ness towards one who deserves both in their highest degree, 
has, perhaps, prejudiced me too strongly. For all that gives 
worth or interest to the female character, I long since looked 
elsewhere, and found more than my most sanguine wishes 
could desire, without having been ever on any single occa- 
sion deceived or disappointed. I am naturally gifted with 
a keen perception of character and motives, which, in a world 
like this, is seldom an agreeable instinct to possess. With 
me it seems like an additional sense, the clear light in which 
I can read thoughts and intentions carefully veiled from or- 
dinary observation ; and it is only when in company with 
Miss Howard, and a very few others, that I have never felt 
cause to regret this habitual penetration.” 

Scarcely had Sir Alfred done speaking, when a loud and 
piercing shriek, which seemed to rend the very skies, arose 
on the ice, and was repeated again and again, while Matilda, 
with clasped hands and straining eyes, gazed in the direc- 
tion from whence it came, vainly seeking to ascertain any 
cause for so much terror and alarm ; but a moment after- 
wards her utmost fears were exceeded. 

In gay emulation of each other’s skill, the party of skaters 
had careered about Loch Deveril for a considerable time, 
wheeling backwards and forwards, cutting spread-eagles, 
and trying races in proof of their pre-eminent grace and ve- 
locity. At length Eleanor, unthinkingly, started with her 
utmost speed towards a poinjt which none of the party had 
ventured to approach because of a rapid stream which fell 
from the neighboring hills, and was known to flow across the 
ice, rendering it at all times extremely unsafe. A loud cry 
of apprehension from her companions was uttered in vain, 
for Miss FitzTatrick seemed determined to out dare them 

10 * 


226 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


all ; and, delighted with the notice she excited, as well as 
iguorant of her danger, she seemed in the act of lightly 
skimming along the surface, and gracefully kissing hei 
hands to the group of alarmed spectators behind, in laugh- 
ing defiance of their warnings, when in a moment she dis- 
appeared. 

The instant Matilda became conscious of what had hap- 
pened, she uttered a cry of grief and despair while rushing 
forward to the margin of the lake, and hastily proceeding 
onwards, almost unconscious of what she did, when her arm 
was firmly grasped, and her progress arrested by Sir Alfred 
Douglas. 

She is lost ! — let me go ! — let me try to save her,” 
gasped Matilda, in breathless agitation ; u I must help her, 
or perish with her ! — oh ! Sir Alfred, do not stop me, as you 
value the life of the person dearest to you on earth.” 

u That is my reason for detaining you” replied he, in a 
tone of such emotion that even her present terror and dis- 
tress could not make Matilda entirely insensible of it. 
u Promise me that you will remain here, whatever happens, 
and I shall instantly go in your place.” 

Scarcely had Matilda given the required assurance before 
Sir Alfred darted off, and proceeded on the ice at a rate 
which seemed more like the flight of a bird than any mere 
human effort of velocity, while she remained fixed to the 
spot, with straining eyes and beating heart, watching his 
progress, and uttering many an inward prayer for Eleanor, 
herself, and him. 

No sooner did it become obvious into what very imminent 
danger Miss Fitz-Patrick’s fool-hardiness had betrayed her, 
than, with the most eager recklessness of danger, she was 
instantly pursued by one whose courage and presence of 
mind were equal to every emergency, while his very life 
seemed never worth a thought when an opportunity oc- 
curred of risking it with spirit, or of losing it with honor. 
Captain M‘Tartan appeared to outstrip the wind, he flew 
forward with such incomparable fleetness ; and all the anx- 
iety with which he was followed by Mr. Grant could not 
afford the smallest chance of his being anticipated or over- 
taken. Instantly plunging into the gulf where Eleanor 
vanished, he seemed scarcely to have left his native element, 
and grasping her with a powerful arm, he buffeted his way 
up the course of a torrent, which had broken through the 
ice, and a moment afterwards placed Miss Fitz-Patrick safe 


OR THE MARCH CF INTELLECT. 


221 


though nearly insensible, on the shore, amidst the loud ac- 
clamations from the surrounding spectators, who instantly 
crowded to the spot. 

Miss Marabout was at once sufficiently recovered from her 
recent fright to wish for a little bustle and importance on an 
occasion when she felt entitled to assume the lead. She 
caused Eleanor to be instantly conveyed to the fishing-lodge 
where, after banishing Matilda and every one else from the 
room, she prepared to place Miss Fitz-Patrick in bed, when 
Eleanor suddenly roused herself, to make a decided protest 
against any such arrangement. No persuasions on the part 
of Miss Marabout could induce her to take any precautions, 
except changing her dress for one which was purchased from 
the fisherman’s daughter ; and thus equipped she soon re- 
joined the party, with all her usual animation of manner, 
and with more than her usual beauty, in consequence of recent 
agitation having heightened her color, and given additional 
lustre to her eyes. 

When Matilda saw her cousin once more restored to life 
and safety, she forgot for a moment everything but the joy 
with which her heart was filled, and clasping Eleanor in her 
arms with an exclamation of thankfulness, she burst into 
tears. 

“ My good cousin !” said Miss Fitz-Patrick, in a tone of 
more kindness than usual, “you are a perfect Niobe, and 
will dissolve altogether some day, if we do not look after 
you ! My danger must have been greatly exaggerated, and 
besides, every one is immortal till his hour is come. Depend 
upon it, I am not to be drowned in Loch Deveril, so you 
should never anticipate the worst, but remember there is no 
evil so bad as that which never happened. I recollect no- 
thing of the accident now, except a strange sensation from 
having nothing to stand on.” 

“As for Miss Howard’s alarm, that could never be com- 
pared with mine !” said Miss Marabout ; “ but it is not my 
way to say much. Every one must see how pale I look ! 
My heart still beats like a clock, and my eyes are perfectly 
dim with the fright. Really our obligations to Captain 
M‘Tartan are incalculable, and if he were only in the 
room ” 

“ Don’t speak of him !” interrupted Eleanor, impatiently. 
“ If I was destined to meet with an adventure, would no- 
body be the hero of it but Captain M‘Tartan !” 

“ You must end in being married to him at last,” said 


228 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


Lady Susan Danvers, in an oracular voice. “ Whenever any 
gentleman saves a lady’s life, that is the certain denoufr 
merit , however unlikely at the time.” 

“ Yes, every impediment will, of course, give way,” added 
Miss Charlotte, enjoying Eleanor’s visible irritation. “ How 
delightful it was, long ago, when no young lady seems ever 
to have embarked in a boat, mounted on horseback, or 
staid at home, without being rescued from imminent danger, 
as you were to-day, by some hero like Captain M‘ Tartan, 
who married her three volumes afterwards !” 

“ 1 am trying to calculate,” said Eleanor, gravely. “ whe- 
ther it would have been most advantageous to the world, 
that Captain M‘Tartan and I should have been both saved or 
both drowned — whether he would not have been as great a 
riddance to you all as I am an acquisition.” 

“ He has done more for you,” said Lady Susan, looking 
maliciously at Mr. Grant, “than many people who make 
finer speeches.” 

“ Poor Foley ! We must not be too severe upon him,” re- 
plied her cousin, turning away the sarcasm from himself. 
“ I was sure you thought the Major too complimentary this 
morning, when he discovered such a family likeness between 
us, but I really forgave him at last, knowing how completely 
it is his foible, wishing to put ladies on good terms with 
themselves.” 

At this moment Captain M‘Tartan entered from an in- 
ner room, where he had been engaged in performing a hasty 
toilet, having contrived with extreme difficulty to squeeze on 
the Sunday clothes of a young man who seemed on a mode- 
rate computation to be about half his size. The coat ap- 
peared in imminent danger of bursting, and the sleeves were 
so short and so tight, that his elbows could not be bent, and 
his wrists remained totally uncovered. A pair of white 
trowsers, which were meant to be long and wide, scarcely 
reached below the knees, his face and hands looked purple 
with cold, and his hair stood on end, as if frozen in an up- 
right position. Bowing rather uncouthly to the ladies, he 
would have hastened past, when Miss Marabout, who was 
on all occasions very attentive to middle-aged beaux, hastily 
intercepted his steps, and began an oration which was meant 
to be long and eloquent. 

“ Captain M‘ Tartan, let me take the first opportunity to 
express our admiration and gratitude ” 

“Pshaw! — nonsense, Miss Marabout! — I hate palaver,’ 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


229 


interrupted hp, trying to hurry on, hut she skilfully inter- 
cepted him, and proceeded, — 

“We really do consider ourselves under the deepest obli- 
gations, and Miss Fitz-Patrick feels most grateful as well as 
myself. A pretty story it would have been, Captain M‘Tar- 
tan, if the heiress of these wide domains had been drowned 
in sight of us all, without any one affording her the least 
assistance, which would have been the case, but for your 
gallantry and heroism.” 

“ One would think we were at a public dinner, Miss Mara- 
bout,” replied Captain M‘Tartan, impatiently measuring the 
distance between himself and the door, with evident inten- 
tions to make a spring at it. 

“ Indeed, many people have had public dinners given them 
for less,” persisted she. 

“ It would take a man several bottles of claret to stand 
such a broadside as this,” muttered the captain, angrily at- 
tempting to escape, but still in vain, for though Miss Mara- 
bout could not well take him by the button, she contrived to 
make it almost equally impossible that he should elude her 
vigilance. 

“ I only speak what Miss Fitz-Patrick thinks, and she 
would have expressed her own sentiments on the occasion, 
but unfortunately, you will perceive, she is still rather hys- 
terical.” 

The truth was, that Eleanor had been for some time con- 
vulsively endeavoring to restrain a burst of laughter with 
which she nearly greeted the entrance of her heroic deliv- 
erer, and she dared not yet venture on a second glance at 
his strange-looking figure. 

“ This is too much for the shilling gallery,” whispered she 
to Mr. Grant, seeing a servant enter to announce the car- 
riage, who was obliged to turn away unable to speak, when 
his eye caught the grotesque costume before him. 

“ There is a great difference between empty professions 
and spirited actions,” continued Miss Marabout, warming 
into eloquence ; “ and it will be seen that Miss Fitz-Patrick 
can appreciate the true value of both.” 

“ Hem ! if the coat fits put it on !” said Mr. Grant, good- 
humoredly coming up to the relief of Captain M‘Tartan, 
whom he perceived to be really annoyed at his detention ; 
“ Stultz, of course,” continued he, slipping his arm into the 
captain’s, and walking him away. “ My good fellow, as we 
say in Persia, may your shadow never be less !” 


230 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ Captain M‘Tartan,” said Sir Alfred, offering him his 
hand with the warmest cordiality, “ You must pardon a lit* 
tie malice and envy from us all. Fortune has favored you 
already with so many opportunities of gaining distinction, 
that your laurels might have been spared this morning to 
those of us who needed them more.” 

The grasp of a vice could scarcely have been more power- 
ful than that with which Captain M‘Tartan seized the ex- 
tended hand, but Sir Alfred returned his friendly greeting 
with scarcely less empressement , while Eleanor was restored 
to instant gravity by the surprise of observing what passed. 

u To be well shaken when taken,” said Mr. Grant, offer- 
ing his hand also, and contriving to give Eleanor a hint to 
do likewise, in consequence of which she felt, bon gre mal 
gr£, obliged to come forward. Lady Susan, perceiving how 
the tide set, next advanced, followed by Miss Charlotte and 
the whole party, who crowded round the Captain with such a 
chorus of congratulation and praise, that his stock of pa- 
tience became completely exhausted. “ Ladies and gentle- 
men,” said he, breaking through the thick array, and escap- 
ing out at the door, “ I wish you would observe a rule made 
in the Laird of Macfarlane’s family long ago, that not above 
nine of them were to speak at once j” 

“ I could tell you a much better story than that” — began 
Sir Colin, in a slow methodical voice, which instantly cleared 
the cottage of its inmates, and drove them all for refuge 
into the various carriages which were waiting to convey them 
home. 

“ Matilda,” whispered Eleanor, taking her cousin’s arm, 
in a tone of friendly confidence, “ there certainly is something 
of the sublime and beautiful about Sir Alfred very different 
from other men, and you will allow that we can feel very lit- 
tle doubt now of his preference.” 

“ For whom ?” asked her cousin, starting and coloring. 
“Nonsense, Matilda ! — you must have observed it. Miss 
Marabout tells me his efforts to reach the place where I fell 
into Loch Deveril were perfectly superhuman, and his speech 
to Captain M‘Tartan was made with prodigious feeling. All 
this is quite unlike his usual indifference about every one 
else, and makes the affair perfectly plain to me. Besides, 
it is unprecedented, his remaining so much in the saloon as 
he has done lately, for Mr. Grant told me that his friend 
used to have an utter contempt for any mere drawing-room 
man. Indeed, he asked me, with a particular look this 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


23 


morning, if I had never yet guessed what caused the great 
change in Sir Alfred’s habits, and would certainly have men- 
tioned something interesting at the moment, but he gave a 
cautionary glance towards you, as much as to say that we 
might be overheard.” 

“ Eleanor,” replied Matilda, trying to steady her voice, 
while a very inconvenient blush stole into her cheek, “ there 
is some mistake — -I am almost certain — that is to say— I 
think it right to mention 

“ You don’t mean to profess any doubt !” exclaimed her 
cousin, with a laugh of angry surprise. “ But I see how it 
is— you may talk of vanity, Matilda, but I know some young 
ladies who never can think enough of any trifling attentions 
which are shown to themselves. Girls who are unaccus- 
tomed to much notice become so conscious of any little ci- 
vility, that their color flits like an aurora borealis or a shot 
silk whenever they are spoken to. I have had some little 
experience now in these matters, Matilda, and let me tell 
you, that when a gentleman has any serious intentions, his 
external devoirs are all paid to some aunt, or cousin, or 
grandmother ;— even the lap-dog and piping bull finches 
come in for a share ; bnt it is to be hoped none of the par- 
ties will ever make the mistake of supposing they are pre- 
ferred.” 

“ Eleanor ! there are limits to what I can feel justified in 
submitting to from you,” said Matilda, with gentle firmness. 
“ You put old friendship and my sense of our present rela- 
tive position to a very trying test ; but it would be neglect- 
ing my duty either towards myself or you, not to explain 
the strong reasons I have for believing ” 

“ Pshaw, Matilda ! I shall never laugh at Charlotte Clif- 
ford again, for all young ladies are alike. I did think you 
had been above those sort of missy -ish confidences ; and, to 
say the truth, I am tired to death of them. Sir Alfred 
scarcely ever speaks to you ; but if he ever makes a formal 
declaration let me know, — meantime I believe nothing that 
I am told on these subjects, and only half what I see.” 

Matilda could not resist a smile when she perceived how 
clear-sighted Eleanor was respecting the self-deception of her 
friends, while she so blindly flattered herself ; but anxious 
yet to put Miss Fitz-Patrick on her guard, she took her 
cousin’s hand before they parted, saying, with a look of frank- 
ness and affection,— 

u You may say some hasty words in a moment of anger 


282 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


Eleanor, but it is impossible seriously to doubt the integrity 
of my intentions, or the warmth of my friendship ; so, with- 
out being overanxious about your good opinion at present, 
let me only hint that 1 have reason to believe Sir Alfred is 
not yet attached to you ; that, moreover, I seriously think 
you prefer Mr. Grant, who would suit you better ; and that 
while you are amused with attracting attention from the one, 
merely because he piques your vanity, the other will be lost 
forever, if he is not so already, and I scarcely know any one 
whom you would have equal cause ho regret. Now, Eleanor, 
after all that has passed, I know what you will think of me 
for venturing this opinion, but I am resolved at least to de- 
serve your confidence.” 

Matilda sprung into the carriage, where Lady Montague 
and Miss Marabout waited for her, and felt unable to speak 
for some time from agitation on account of the effort it had 
cost her to persevere in being candid with Eleanor. At the 
time when she had thus openly given an opinion of Sir 
Alfred’s sentiments, she considered how painfully difficult it 
was fully to understand them herself, and how gratefully she 
would have listened to any friend who could have acted to- 
wards her as she wished to do towards Eleanor. Matilda 
knew but little of the world and its ways ; she placed entire 
reliance on Sir Alfred’s honor and integrity, but still he had 
said nothing which a brother might not have done ; and the 
more she felt inclined to think of him, the stricter seemed 
that vigilance with which she ought to watch over her own 
peace of mind. His eye had been the first to mark Eleanor’s 
want of kindness towards herself, his voice had been the first 
to speak of sympathy in a sorrow which had so long dis- 
tressed her, and it would have been a pleasing indulgence to 
let hope and imagination picture a secret attachment on the 
part of Sir Alfred, which for some inconceivable reason he 
could not at once declare. Almost every young man has a 
tyrannical uncle, or father, or aunt, whose wealth and caprice 
might be supposed to afford plausible impediments to any de- 
cided eclair cissement — but Sir Alfred entertained no expecta- 
tions from any one : he was, according to the modern phrase, 
“ his own father,” and quite independent of any one’s opinion, 
so Matilda determined to suppose nothing meant unless dis. 
tinctly expressed. It was now that she felt the benefit ot 
having been early practised in commanding her own thoughts. 
No romantic visions of imaginary happiness were allowed to 
fiit through her mind ; no exaggerated recollection of } ast 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


239 


professions, nor any fancied meaning given to words or 
actions which she could not entirely forget ; hut after calmly 
and dispassionately considering all that had passed, she be- 
came able to satisfy her heart with the reflection that her 
happiness had been long since implicitly consigned to the 
care of Him who ordered all things well. In praying that 
every event may be ordained for the best, we know not what 
we ask , unless that petition distinctly pledges us to suffer 
cheerfully the disappointment of every earthly hope, if 
necessary to our future well-being, for it is seldom that the 
enjoyment of our desires in a present world is consistent with 
our safe and speedy preparation for a better and more en- 
during iuheritence. 


234 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


CHAPTER XVI. 


When 1 was yet a child, no childish play 
To me was pleasing ; all my mind was set 
Serious to learn and know, and thence to do 
What might be gen’ral good ; myself I thought 
Born to that end, born to promote all truth, 

All righteous things. 

Milton. 

When Matilda re-entered the drawing-room, before din- 
ner, she perceived Dr. Murray and Sir Alfred engaged in 
deep and earnest conversation, in which they had both the 
appearance of being profoundly interested, while she ob- 
served with pleasure, her venerable friend’s rising animation 
of manner, in proportion as he felt himself understood and 
appreciated by the young Baronet, who delighted to take 
every opportunity of drawing him aside to a private con- 
ference. 

Matilda had not the slightest intention of joining them, 
but before she was seated, Sir Alfred rose, and placed a chair, 
apparently anxious that she should partake in the same 
pleasure which he enjoyed so much himself, while, to his no 
small surprise, Eleanor accompanied her cousin as a volun- 
teer in the little coterie. Miss Fitz-Patrick had such a happy 
confidence in herself, that she felt, on all occasions, sure of 
being an acquisition ; and whenever she' saw people intently 
conversing, her first impulse was to become one of the party, 
though generally rather with an intention to lead than to 
follow. On the present occasion, however, she listened with 
unusual deference to the conclusion of Dr. Murray’s discus- 
sion respecting the subjects for meditation, which are most 
to be cultivated by the Christian mind ; and, though what 
he said had not been at first intended for so many listeners, 
he continued, without showing any apparent consciousness 
of their augmented numbers. In describing the wide field 
of thought, and the refreshing streams of pleasure which 
are thus opened for the heart of man to rejoice in, his own 
extraordinary powers of reflection, and his impassioned elo- 
quence of expression, became strikingly obvious, and had 


OR THE MARCH CF INTELLECT. 


235 


their usual impressive effect upon all who heard him. Even 
Eleanor experienced the influence of a heart and under 
standing so truly elevated ; but wherever the feelings ought 
to be touched, hers were seldom exactly tuned up to concert 
pitch ; and as she always spoke out the first thought that 
occurred, without a doubt of it being right, she could not 
fail to betray the nature of her own reflections. Pleased 
with all he said, and judging from herself that praise must 
be always acceptable, she exclaimed, in a tone of real admi- 
ration, “ Dr. Murray ! how completely you must feel lost in 
this little country parish !” 

u Lost ! did you say, Miss Fitz Patrick ?” asked he, with 
a look of surprise and perplexity. “ In what respect ?” 

“ Why, there is no opportunity here of distinguishing 
yourself, — no public meetings, — no platforms to make 
speeches on ! — and you ought to have the largest church in 
the kingdom, instead of. the least/’ 

“Little as you thiuk it, the responsibility is more than 
sufficient, Miss Fitz-Patrick ; and could I alter the extent 
of this parish at all, my first wish would be to diminish it ; 
but the bounds of our habitation are appointed for us ; there- 
fore my only desire is to have strength given me in propor- 
tion to what is a sacred duty towards the four thousand per- 
sons for whose welfare I am in a great degree answerable.” 

“ But your learning and talents are thrown away upon 
people who cannot possibly appreciate them.” 

“ My parishioners estimate me precisely as I wish,” replied 
Dr. Murray, with a benevolent smile, seeing that for once he 
must talk of the person who was generally least in his thoughts 
or conversation — himself. I trust we all experience, that 
there is no happiness in life equal to that of promoting the 
happiness of others ; and in watehing over that of so many, 
my greatest ambition is to be regarded as the friend and 
counsellor of each individual. I would not have one of 
them imagine me above sympathizing in their cares and sor- 
rows, and even in their ignorance, for it has often occurred 
to me that much of the dissent throughout this kingdom is 
occasioned by the wide disparity in rank and intellect be- 
tween the established clergy and their parishioners. It must 
seem to these poor people as if we could never have suffered 
like themselves, and could scarcely enter into their ideas, 
which might account for their being enticed by the ministra 
tions of those who do not intimidate them by a show of su- 
periority. Nothing pleases me more. Miss Fitz-Patrick, than 


236 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


to perceive the perfect readiness with which my people come 
to me, and the entire confidence with which they ask my 
opinion in every emergency. Poor Donald M‘Intyre con- 
suited me yesterday, about the price of his cart-horse, and I 
was quite flattered to observe the interest he expected me 
to take in his purchase.” 

“ But then, Dr. Murray, what pleasure can there be in 
composing your sermons so beautifully, and delivering them 
with such eloquence as I know you do ?” 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick, never poison your friends with praise, 
— it is dangerous diet for any one to live upon ; but if there 
be a single individual to whom the mere composition and 
delivery are of importance, then no pains should be spared 
to improve both. We must be ‘ all things to all men, that 
by any means we may win some .’ Yet, give me a congrega- 
tion who listen profoundly, and disperse to their houses in 
silence, impressed with the awful truths which I come to 
promulgate, rather than one who could be moved to a tem- 
pest of emotion, and then follow it up, as people of educa- 
tion too often do, with a critical disquisition on the style, on 
the train of argument, and on everything except the effect 
intended to be produced on their own life and conduct.” 

“ That reminds me,” said Matilda, “ of the panegyric 
which Louis XIY. pronounced on Massillon, for I am sure 
you would prefer it, Dr. Murray, to any other praise : ‘ many 
preachers make me think a great deal of them , but this one 
teaches me to think think little of myself.' 1 ” 

“ So, Dr. Murray, being myself a member of the parish,” 
observed Eleanor, “ I am glad for the sake of Gaelfield, that 
you have no ambition for a higher sphere.” 

a It would scarcely be possible for me to enter on a hap- 
pier one. Miss Fitz-Patrick, those who were young when 
I first came here, have grown old under my care. I have 
rejoiced in the blessed progress of the just, and mourned 
over the sins of the profligate. Many parents and many 
children I have buried, and I married most of those who 
are now smiling in prosperity around me. It has been my 
duty to soothe the sorrows of all, and to know, in every sep- 
arate house, the hopes and fears, the temptations and afflic- 
tions of my people. Could anything ever unite me as closely 
to another congregation ? These are, in every sense, my 
own family, and no promotion could compensate for dividing 
me from all that has hitherto engrossed and interested me 
in existence. It is strauge, — it is deeply impressive, to be 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


237 


a spectator of life so long as I have been. To look back 
upon the lapse of years, and remember it like the flitting 
pageantry of a theatre. The bloom of youth has now faded 
on many a healthful cheek — the spring of hope has dried 
up in many a sanguine heart ; — the smiling infant, the 
cherished bride, and the aged patriarch, have each and all 
been torn from their weeping families, while I am yet left to 
declare that there has been but one anchor of hope, both sure 
and steadfast. They have passed away, as it were, in a 
mournful procession, and I wait till my summons comes, to 
follow. Then, when dust returns to dust, my desire is to 
be laid in the grave beside my own people, and beneath the 
shadow of those walls where we have so often assembled 
together.” 

There was silence for a moment, as no one could reply ; 
and Dr. Murray seemed anxious to proceed, though unable 
at once to do so ; but having considered for some time, he 
added, in a tone of great feeling, — 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick ! I have laid open my mind the more 
clearly at present, from an anxious desire to speak once 
again on the subject which we discussed yesterday, that by 
revealing the deep interest I take in all my people, you may 
appreciate the extent of my solicitude respecting one who 
suffers so severely. I might tell you that many sorrowful 
scenes have already fallen to my share, — that I have seen 
the laugh of frolicsome youth suddenly change to the cry of 
despairing anguish, — that I have seen hearts alienated for* 
ever, which once were linked by the strongest ties of earthly 
affection ; and that, stranger and sadder than either, I have 
watched over the bright intellect of man becoming gradually 
darkened beneath the infirmities of age, while the senses and 
the affections were sunk into a living grave ; but never, oh ! 
never before, did I see all these united in one overpowering 
calamity, and a mind, yet in the vigor of youth, struggling 
against the undeserved imputations of guilt, and against the 
inroads of insanity.” 

“ Dr. Murray !” replied Eleanor, starting and coloring. 
“ it was impossible to hear all you told me yesterday with- 
out being deeply affected, and I lost not an hour in sending 
my housekeeper, Mrs. Gordon, to Gowanbank. She says 
Nanny has greatly recovered since your visit, and is urgent 
for her sister’s marriage to take place without delay. She 
talks of the wedding incessantly, and her eyes were perfectly 
lighted up when she spoke of it to Martha ; but she has 


238 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


merely requested that William Grey shall never enter the 
house till he becomes her brother. The cold Nanny caught, 
with being out so late and so improperly in the evenings, 
brought on a slight feverishness and delirium, which Mrs. 
Gordon assures me is perfectly cured, and I have desired no 
expense to be spared in making her comfortable at home. 
We shall send again, in a few days, to inquire if she con- 
tinues well.” 

“No messenger will be necessary to-morrow, as I shall 
call there myself, on our way home, to tell Nanny of the 
promise you made me yesterday, Miss Fitz-Patrick. It will 
be the poor girl’s best consolation to feel assured that this 
whole business shall be thoroughly sifted. Her character 
must not be left at the mercy of vague suspicion any longer ; 
and for my own part, I have a perfect confidence in the re- 
sult of your investigations.” 

Eleanor looked exceedingly annoyed at this unexpected 
appeal to her memory, respecting a promise which had been 
given in haste, and repented of at leisure. She foresaw a 
world of trouble which it would involve to disturb the har- 
mony of her household at present, and it had appeared such 
an easy way of temporizing with the whole affair, to get rid 
of Nanny, and let the blame rest with her, that she fully 
persuaded herself of the justice, as well as the convenience 
of this measure; and now, With a peevish exclamation about 
the 44 plague of servants,” she turned hastily from the ob- 
servant look with which Dr. Murray regarded her, for it was 
evident that, upon this subject, he had resolved to be perse- 
vering and decided. 

“Well, Dr. Murray,” said Eleanor, adopting her usual 
plan of altering disagreeable topics, “ if this country were 
the Happy Valley of Rasselas, I should still feel in your 
place the same misery that he did, about the impossibility 
of ever getting away, for I begin to dislike it already, with 
respect to Barnard Castle.” 

“ There is much truth in the French proverb,” said Sir 
Alfred. “ 4 La felicite est dans le gout, et non pas dans les 
choses, ou les places.’ ” 

44 True indeed,” replied Dr. Murray. 44 My neighbor at 
Clanpibroch Castle is poor and discontented on an almost 
boundless income — and old Janet used to think herself rich 
and happy with scarcely enough to purchase the necessaries 
of life. Many a lesson I have received in that cottage, of 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


239 


cheerful self-denial, for truly our best school of practical di- 
vinity is often found in the homes of the pious poor.” 

“ You must frequently wish for a larger income, in order 
to relieve their wants'?” said Eleanor. “It might extend 
your sphere of usefulness.” 

“ I have quite a sufficient one for all professional purposes. 
We have long been happy on little, and might be miserable 
on a great deal ; therefore, neither for my people nor my- 
self do I desire an increase. Their habits are simple, and 
their wants are few.” 

“ I do wonder, then, how people manage to keep down 
their necessities,” said Eleanor, with a consequential look 
round her splendid rooms. “ Mine seem to increase every- 
day.” 

“ You should never let them grow,” said Mr. Grant, join- 
ing the circle. “No man is poor unless he thinks himself 
so, and I live upon a straw a-day without ever feeling the 
want of more. You would admire, Miss Fitz-Patrick, the 
superlative dignity with which 1 can pay off my last guinea, 
looking as if thousands more were ready to follow.” 

“ But with respect to Dr. Murray, he must really give us 
a chapter like Dr. Johnson’s, 1 On the wants of a man who 
wants nothing for he is the first person I ever met with 
who had not some good presentable reason for wishing to be 
rich.” 

“ Unfortunately, you must perceive, Miss Fitz-Patrick, 
that our friend here has no expensive taste to serve as an 
outlet for this imaginary large income. Dr. Murray feels 
but little ambition to collect china or pictures — he dislikes 
a carriage, has no penchant for a French cook, nor the 
slightest desire to set up his yacht. Besides which, if all his 
friends are like me, they would rather dine with him on a 
plain joint and a bottle of sherry, than with any other per 
son on champagne and turtle. Therefore, having settled to 
your satisfaction the impossibility of his spending, I believe 
he would still more dislike to hoard, which reminds me of a 
plan [ once invented for enriching the government, to be 
proposed by some able legislator like Sir Alfred. When- 
ever it can be legally proved that any man has, during ten 
years, not lived up to his fortune, let the surplus be confis- 
cated on behalf of those good people who positively cannot 
live within theirs ; and anything that is over, to go for the 
relief of taxation.” 

“ Very good,” said Eleanor ; “ your uncle might be kept 


240 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


very cheaply at the public expense, with the old gig, the old 
horse, the old butler, and the old grey coat, as usual, and 
what would he lose 7 I estimate every person’s wealth by 
what he spends ; and an avaricious man, whatever money 
may be in his name at a bank, is born a beggar, and dies a 
beggar !” 

I consider every one more or less insane in proportion 
as he hoards or does not hoard,” observed Mr. Grant, laugh- 
ing ; “ yet to those who thoroughly enjoy the pleasure of sav- 
ing, it is a perpetual amusement. The richest of us cannot 
be always giving or spending money, but the miser finds in- 
cessantly recurring pleasure in every pin he picks up, or in 
every scrap of paper he saves : but certainly those of mod- 
ern times enjoy less happiness than their predecessors, be- 
cause a banker’s book cannot be half so interesting an object 
of contemplation as the chests of gold and the bright guineas 
which they are represented as perpetually counting in old 
pictures.” 

“ Sir Alfred,” said Eleanor, soon after, when Dr. Murray 
was called away by Sir Richard, “ I see you understand can- 
vassing better than one would suppose, by your paying at- 
tention to our parish clergyman. He has unbounded In- 
fluence over all the farmers and people about the district, if 
you only persuade him to exert it.” 

“ Can you possibly imagine, Miss Fitz-Patrick, that I am 
biassed by self-interest in associating with Dr. Murray !” 
replied Sir Alfred in momentary astonishment. No, believe 
me, that is an honor which I appreciate for its own sake. 
We never touch upon politics together, and, except where 
they are immediately connected with his own profession, he 
generally avoids the subject entirely.” 

“ A propos, Douglas,” said Mr. Grant, “ I have been do- 
ing a bit of popularity for you to-day. Our old adversary, 
Jones, the farmer at Bannockfield, has lost a quantity of 
cattle lately, so I rode over, and asked, at a venture, for his 
brown cow. By good fortune there were a dozen of that 
color, one of which had been complaining, so he was prodig- 
iously pleased at the attention. We went all over the stock, 
and I praised his pigs, poultry, and children most zealously, 
besides talking big about the landed interest. His parting 
looks promised me a vote, and, if you will believe me, Mis 3 
Howard, nothing could exceed old Jones’s disappointment 
^hen he discovered that I was not the candidate myself!” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


241 


u I dare say that, for in his place I would certainly have 
capitulated.” 

“ Now, Sir Alfred’s conception of canvassing is such a 
contrast to mine ! He rides up to the door of every farmer 
or shopkeeper, with his well-mounted groom behind, and 
sends for the voters. Out they come, hat in hand, and he 
strokes his horse’s head, tells them his opinions have been 
fully stated, and asks for their votes in the sort of command- 
ing tone with which I would order a pair of boots or a few 
tons of hay. It takes amazingly, for he looks as if no one had 
ever refused him anything, and that it was quite impossible 
they should.” 

“ There are occasions when I could be diffident enough — 
perhaps more so than you, Grant ; but that is only where 
there is much to be asked,” said Sir Alfred, fixing his eyes 
for a moment on Matilda, with a look of anxious interest, 
which brought the ready color to her cheek. The tone in 
which these few words were said, appeared so full of sensibility, 
that Eleanor felt how much meaning was attached to them ; 
but supposing that, of course, they must be meant for her- 
self, she turned away with a conscious smile, satisfied that 
nothing could be more undoubted than his devoted attach- 
ment. 

“ Sir Alfred,” said Miss Charlotte, joining the party, u I 
am positively assured you were so exclusive on the Continent 
that you would not make a single acquaintance, and cut all 
those who knew you already.” 

“ On the contrary, I behaved particularly well ! — answered 
almost everybody who spoke to me, and endeavored to 
endure them. But, Miss Clifford, pray write my travels, 
and depend upon it I shall vouch for whatever you like to 
assert” 

It is a great advantage to begin the world, as you have 
done, by establishing a reputation for being ‘ odd,’ as one 
must never be surprised or offended at anything you say or 
do,” continued Miss Charlotte. “ I often tell people the 
strangest stories about you, Sir Alfred, but they invariably 
reply, with a laugh, ‘ That is so like him !’ ” 

” On the same plan, every lady at the head of a country 
mansion,” said Mr. Grant, u should set up for having 1 a way’ 
of her own, and then whatever habit she adopts is above all 
criticism. If any visitor complains of remaining a whole 
day in the house without her noticing him, as Mr. Armstrong 
did yesterday, the ready answer of every one is — 1 Ah ! that 


242 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


is her way P If another remarks that she kept dinner wait- 
ing an hour, those who are more intimate reply, with a look 
of contemptuous superiority, ‘ I perceive you don’t know 
“ her way” !’ and if she sits a whole evening in a remote 
corner of the room with one friend, to the exclusion of all 
the others, still nobody could be so unreasonable as to take 
offence, if it is ? her way.’ So, the moment any lady estab- 
lishes a way , she is at perfect liberty to be as capricious as 
she likes, though, till then, I do not know a greater slave to 
the whims of others than one who is determined to make her 
country house agreeable.” 

“Well, then! here is Martin to announce dinner, and it 
is ‘ my way’ not to wait till Lord Alderby comes to hand 
me in,” said Eleanor, looking at Sir Alfred, who felt obliged 
to take the hint, and with an almost imperceptible glance 
towards Matilda, who could not but observe it, he offered his 
arm to Miss Fitz-Patrick, and silently conducted her to the 
dining-room. The young Baronet had often maintained an 
opinion that it was much more tolerable to live with those 
who talk too little than with those who talk too much, and 
he never felt more perfectly confirmed in any assertion than 
on the present occasion. Eleanor’s spirits were excited be- 
yond even their usual pitch ; and being resolved to complete 
at once her supposed conquest, she spoke incessantly, and 
made Sir Alfred’s eyes, ears, and whole attention perfect 
prisoners, so that he could scarcely snatch a momentary in- 
terval to eat, and sent the greater portion of his dinner 
away untasted. It would have been more tolerable to him 
if the dinner-bell had continued ringing in his ears during 
as long a time ; but there being no escape, he composedly 
resigned himself to his fate, and assumed an external aspect 
of deference and attention, to conceal the want of real inter- 
est in what she said. Upon this Eleanor became more than 
ever confident that he must be charmed with her vivacity ; 
and, little guessing how different was the style of conversa- 
tion he preferred, she rattled on with immeasurable rapidity, 
regretting only that Matilda seldom looked her way, or she 
could not have been otherwise than convinced how fallacious 
had been her own opinion of Sir Alfred’s indifference. 

Meantime Miss Marabout began entertaining Dr. Murray, 
at another end of the table, with a most sublime and terrific 
edition of Eleanor’s adventure that morning on the ice. Her 
account might have sufficed to bring Captain M’Tartan a 
medal from the Humane Society, she enlarged upon it io 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


24? 


such glowing terms ; and being seldom much listened to by 
any one, her eloquence rose as she proceeded, and seemed 
likely to become endless. The object of this panegyric, who 
sat near, was evidently annoyed almost beyond endurance ; 
he writhed about in his chair, colored, talked of other sub- 
jects, and at length, perceiving that it would never terminate, 
as she appeared evidently to think praise must be secretly 
gratifying to him, Captain M’Tartan exclaimed, in an irri 
tated voice, 

u Miss Marabout ! I would rather go into the pillory at 
once than be held up in this ridiculous way ! — one would 
imagine I had leaped into the whirlpool of Corryvrekan !” 

M Come ! my good friend ! take a glass of wine with Elea- 
nor !” said Sir Richard. 11 1 fancy you both had water enough 
for to-day.” 

“ Why really, my cousin’s white poodle might do all I 
did to-day ; and Blanco would have answered the purpose 
better than I in one respect, that I fancy she is very much 
preferred !” 

“ I remember hearing a remarkable instance of sagacity in 
a Newfoundland dog,” began Sir Colin, eagerly. 

“ Fletcher ! a glass of Madeira interrupted Sir Richard. 

“ With pleasure! — in a Newfoundland dog, and -” 

11 Sir Colin ! send Miss Clifford a slice of turkey,” inter- 
posed Mr. Grant. 

“ Take my advice, old gentleman ! and when you want to 
spin a yarn in this house, clap on all steam, or else wait till 
after dinner,” said Captain M‘Tartan, good-humoredly. 

li The dog was given to my friend, Sir Jonathan Fowler, 
by Captain Hargrave,” persisted the Baronet, “ one of these 
Leicestershire Hargraves, a Captain in the 33rd infantry, 
who distinguished himself in Spain. — Poor fellow ! he lost 
both his legs there ” 

“ The dog /” exclaimed Mr. Grant. 

“ No ! Sir Jonathan Fowler,” replied Colonel Pendarvis. 

u You are all wrong ! it was Captain Hargrave of the 
33rd.” 

u Rather awkward for a Captain in the Feet to lose both 
his legs !” added Major Foley. 

“ Pray,” asked Miss Murray, “ how do officers travel in an 
infantry regiment ? Bo they take post-chaises ?” 

“ Always in hackney-coaches,” replied Mr. Grant. u But 
[ am told every regiment is to have its own omnibus now ” 


244 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ In fact,” pursued Sir Colin, “ the courage and saga 
city of those animals might often put men to the blush, 
and ” 

“Very true!” interrupted Miss Marabout, u and had it 
not been for Captain M‘Tartan’s admirable boldness and 
presence of ” 

“ Miss Marabout !” interrupted he, “ if you mention 
this affair in my hearing again, I shall instantly leave the 
room.” 

“ M‘Tartan ! will you take wine ?” said Sir Alfred, in a 
tone of friendly regard with which he seldom addressed anjr 
one ; and if the gallant Captain had been knighted on the 
spot, he could scarcely have looked more surprised and pleased 
than at this unexpected attention. 

“ As I was saying,” continued Sir Colin, deliberately, 
“about this dog of Sir Jonathan’s ” 

“ Fletcher, I am told you make it a rule never to tell any 
story twice the same, because that would show such a want 
of imagination,” said Mr. Grant. “ I like the plan amaz- 
ingly, for it is so much more entertaining than those dull 
prosing people who have everything stereotyped on their 
brain, and never can bring out a new edition. Now ! last 
time you told that story the dog was a poodle ! — yes, de- 
cidedly, a black poodle !” 

“ People with luxuriant imaginations should really try to 
curb them,” added Eleanor. “ One must keep to fact, Sir 
Colin, for there is nothing of so much consequence as to be 
quite correct in the minutest details. I like even to know 
whether you sat on a person’s right hand or his left.” 

No inducement could bring either of his accusers to hear 
Sir Colin’s indignant protestations of rigid accuracy — the 
laugh was universal, and, in despair of receiving common 
justice, he turned angrily to Matilda, who compassionately 
lent her eyes for half an hour, though her ears were more 
amusingly entertained in listening to the lively sallies that 
were passing all round the table. Sir Colin’s voice sounded 
like a bee buzzing at her ear, until his final titter recalled 
her attention in time to take a part in the laughing chorus 
with which he always wished to conclude. 

When the gentlemen re-entered the drawing-room at a 
late hour that evening, Mr. Grant stole round behind a large 
sofa where most of the young ladies were engaged in an ani- 
mated discussion, and leaning over the back of it, with a 
coffee-cup in his hand, he fixed his laughing eyes on Elea* 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


246 


nor and Miss Charlotte, who had both been talking at once, 
but paused suddenly on observing him near. 

“ Mr. Grant,” said Eleanor, slyly, “listeners never heal 
good of themselves. If you could adopt invisibility, and 
know all we are saying, it would make you hold up your 
three hands with astonishment !” 

“ Then it is as I guessed, and you were talking of me. I 
was certain the subject must be more than commonly inter* 
esting. Few nerves can stand the reception we meet with 
on coming up stairs after dinner. The ladies all pause, and 
look disconcerted at our entrance, which really puts a shy, 
diffident man like me quite out of countenance.” 

“ Every person living professes to be shy !” exclaimed 
Miss Charlotte ; “ but I certainly had an idea that you 
were thoroughly bronzed, Mr. Grant.” 

“ How little you know me, Miss Clifford ! I really am 
the shyest man in existence, and often wonder that young 
ladies never have the charity to pay me more attention. 
You should try to draw me out, and give me confidence. I 
have one small merit which obscures many greater ones, and 
that is modest merit.” 

“ Matilda made precisely that remark on you five min- 
utes ago,” said Eleanor, archly. “ My cousin is always 
rafher censorious, and she was wondering you ever went 
into society, seeing how dull and silent it made you ; but 
she thinks Sir Alfred’s chatty pleasant manners must ren- 
der him the life of every tea-table.” 

“ You have my free permission to believe this, if it be 
possible, Mr. Grant,” added Matilda; “my cousin seems to 
have mistaken her own opinion for mine.” 

“ You would never do for the heroine of a novel, being so 
ready with an answer,” cried Eleanor, laughing. “ Now a 
thorough-bred heroine ought to appear continually speech- 
less with emotion. Another deficiency, let me take this 
opportunity of remarking, — Whenever a gentleman at- 
tempted being civil to a young lady formerly, she was all 
on fire to repress his hopes and to punish his presumption ; 
but, on the contrary, my good cousin is really forgetting her 
dutj towards poor Sir Colin. He has twice handed you a 
cup of tea to-night, so it is full time at least to look repul- 
sive ; this morning you got up a smile at his favorite bon 
mot about Sir Jonathan Fowler calling his fallen postilhm a 
postilio/f ; and you are the only young lady he knows whc 
can laugh at his stories , and not at himself" 


246 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


“ You are maliciously bent on making mischief between 
Sir Colin and me, Eleanor, but I shall not be your dupe, 
having resolved to avoid all Missy-ish airs of that kind. 
You may have the most perfect reliance on his indifference, 
and I find great advantage from the attention he shows 
me.” 

“ Well ! well ! we shall all see what you will bring on 
yet. Mr. Grant, only imagine what a proposal it would be ; 
— two sheets of foolscap, with six or seven postscripts at 
least.” 

“ Imagine!” exclaimed Mr. Grant, with animation. “ If it 
be supposed possible for him to have so much presumption, 
I could write down every word he would say ; beginning 
with ” 

“ Hush ! not now !” exclaimed Eleanor, with sudden eager- 
ness ; and Matilda looked round expecting from her cousin’s 
manner to perceive Sir Colin within ear-shot : but she saw 
only Sir Alfred sitting near, and the old Baronet himself, at 
a great distance, haranguing to Lady Susan, who had as- 
sumed a look of animated attention. 

u How I do like to see young people happy !” said Mr. 
Grant, following the direction of Matilda’s eyes. “Their 
united ages are exactly a hundred and sixty.” 

“ Now hear me, Matilda !” continued Eleanor, gravely. “ I 
know the world, and you do not, so it is quite presumptuous 
to set up your judgment in opposition to mine. Depend 
upon it, Sir Colin is not a man to trifle with. I once knew 
an old gentleman, nearly his age, who died of an apoplexy 
from disappointment ; and poor General Anderson has had 
the gout ever since Adelaide Montague refused him. If 
you hear a story out once again, observe, I shall not be an- 
swerable for the consequences. Go now, like a good girl, 
and give us some music, after which you — you might dance 
us a few of your steps.” 

Matilda plainly perceived that Eleanor wished to mono- 
polize the conversation of Mr. Grant, so she strolled to a 
distant table for her work. Scarcely had she drawn out a 
needle, however, before, to her infinite annoyance, Sir Colin 
approached, and was instantly plunged into the labyrinth of 
his most interminable narrative, from which nothing short 
of rudeness could have disentangled her. A transient 
smile passed over the features of Sir Alfred, when he caught 
Matilda’s eye wandering round the room for a pretext to es- 
cape, while she also saw her cousin and Mr. Grant watching 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


247 


her with the most undisguised diversion. It seemed evi 
dent that they were talking of her ; and the subject became 
productive of extreme amusement, which was testified by 
frequent laughter. Nevertheless, Eleanor found intervals 
to cast many satirical glances and reproachful looks at Ma- 
tilda. shrugging her shoulders, and turning up her eyes to 
intimate what an unpardonable flirt they both considered 
her. Miss Howard felt a shrinking apprehension of ridicule ; 
but having resolved on all occasions, whether trifling or im- 
portant, not to be biassed by it, but to act, as she believed 
at the moment, to be right, without indulging too much her 
own natural sensitiveness, she determined now to remain 
stationary though annoyed by her cousin’s bantering looks, 
and inwardly intent on escaping from the thraldom of Sir 
Colins anec dotage at the first opportunity when politeness 
and good feeling rendered it possible. At length Eleanor 
hastily rose, and gravely shaking her head at her cousin, she 
walked towards the library, followed by Mr. Grant. No 
sooner had they departed, than Sir Alfred approached the 
place where she sat, and made an immediate diversion in 
Matilda’s favor, by asking Sir Colin for his friend Sir Jona- 
than Fowler, and assuming an attitude of attention to the 
very elaborate reply which followed, while she gladly has- 
tened towards the pianoforte. It was now that Miss How- 
ard, for the first time, fully estimated the prolixity of Sir 
Colin’s style, when she observed Sir Alfred enduring it on 
her account, and that his eye became fixed on a vacant chair 
near herself, which he seemed evidently anxious to seize the 
first opportunity of occupying. It was obvious with what 
impatience he bore Sir Colin’s tediousness ; but at length, 
having hastily terminated the interview, by making a short 
concluding remark, in his own peculiar style, Sir Alfred pro- 
ceeded a step towards the seat he had so long been prepar- 
ing to take. Matilda colored and smiled as he approached ; 
and nothing seemed likely to impede the pleasure of the 
evening, when suddenly, and most unexpectedly, the empty 
place became occupied by the very last person in the room 
whom she expected to see there. 

Mr. Armstrong had been for some time humming to him- 
self the airs in I Puritani , while sitting near Eleanor, in the 
library, when all at once he started up, after something she 
said to Mr. Grant, and hurried in obvious irritation to the 
drawing-room. It was evident from the glitter of Miss Fitz- 
Patrick’s eye, that her wit had been levelled at him, and that 


248 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


she had put in what was considered a successful stroke, for 
'the excited and furious expression of Mr. Armstrong’s dark 
sallow countenance showed how it had told. Placing him- 
self beside Matilda, he remained for some moments silent, but 
his compressed lip and flashing eye spoke of the storm that 
raged within. To the disappointment of seeing Sir Alfred 
withdraw and join Dr. Murray instead of herself, Matilda had 
the additional grievance of being placed beside the only 
person against whom she ever entertained an unconquerable 
aversion ; and there was a sternness and malignity in his 
eye, which, united with his meanness in remaining under a 
roof where he appeared so obviously unwelcome, made her 
gentle nature recoil from his approach. 

“ Pray, Miss Howard !” said he, abruptly, “ did you ever 
hear of an Irishman who sawed off the branch of a tree on 
which he was sitting himself? Your cousin may some 
morning encounter such another fall as he had, and be equally 
surprised.” 

“ Indeed !” replied Matilda, seeing she was expected to 
speak. “ I should be sorry for that !” 

“ Perhaps you may have cause to rejoice, and I shall be 
the first to light a bonfire on that occasion. If you were told 
all Miss Marabout repeats of your cousin’s observations on 
us both, you would know better what to think upon this 
subject.” 

K I am shocked to hear of Miss Marabout’s treachery ! but, 
Mr. Armstrong, no man need expect to be discussed in his 
absence as he would be if present, and we must make allow- 
ances for lively spirits. 1 could not trust the misrepresen- 
tations of any person who openly violates the mutual confi- 
dence on which all society depends, and I am sorry that the 
friend my cousin so entirely relies on should be unworthy of 
her kindness.” 

“ There are secrets, Miss Howard, in the best regulated 
families, and if you could find them all out, I know one which 
would be worth a trifle. Pay your best respects to me, and 
if I choose to do all that could be done — but I say nothing.” 

“ So it appears !” replied Matilda, laughing good-hu- 
moredly. “ Do what is just and right, Mr. Armstrong, but 
never expect that I shall pay attention to any one from 
sinister motives.” 

“What is just /” exclaimed he, twisting his features into 
a tremendous contortion, expressive of mysterious caution. 
“ You may be rather surprised, Miss Howard, to hear what 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


24© 


strict justice might involve. How should you like to have 
£ 12,000 a-year ? — answer me that ! What would you say, if 
with a single whisper, I could bring Lord Alderby, and all 
Miss Fitz-Patrick’s admirers to your feet, instead of hers ?” 

a Why ! neither she nor I could desire it !” 

“ You know the old proverb, Miss Howard, ‘ point d) argent, 
'point de Suisse It would be a friendly thing to drop a hint 
of that to Miss Fitz-Patrick. Perhaps, if I am not better 
treated, her lovers may be put to the test,” added Mr. Arm- 
strong, with a look of malignity towards the next room, where 
Eleanor sat laughing, with Mr. Grant, but his voice became 
nearly drowned by a brilliant prelude with which Matilda 
began an air of Rossini’s, in order to terminate a conversa- 
tion which she considered unpleasant and incomprehensible. 

“ Miss Howard,” said he, with increasing irritability, 
t£ your music may be good, but your cards are very ill played.” 

“ How can I do otherwise, without knowing what the cards 
are ?” replied she, pausing in the midst of a cadence, and 
turning her bright ingenuous contenance full upon him. 
“ Seriously, Mr. Armstrong, you perplex and annoy me with 
hints and inuendoes which it is impossible to understand, 
and which direct my thoughts toward apparent impossibil- 
ities ; therefore, let there be an end to such discussions, and, 
believe me, I am perfectly satisfied with the present state of 
affairs, which are all more wisely ordered than either you or 
I could have done. If any alteration ever comes, it shall 
not be of my seeking.” 

“Then allow me to say but one word at parting,” answered 
Mr. Armstrong, with a look of intense cunning, “ and take 
time to consider what you would give , Miss Howard, to have 
the mystery cleared up. I could make you mistress of Bar- 
nard Castle to-morrow, with a snap of my fingers,” and, 
suiting the action to the word, he suddenly started up, and 
hurried out of the room. • 

Matilda was bewildered and amazed at his strange lan- 
guage, and extraordinary manner, though the more she con- 
sidered, the less she thought it possible that such power 
could be in his hands, as he seemed to intimate, nor did she 
feel that it could have added to her happiness, if the revo- 
lution had been produced which he threatened. Miss 
Howard saw the evil effects of extreme prosperity on her 
cousin, and she would have feared it for herself. She ob- 
served, also, in no very inviting colors, the unnatural position 
which any young lady must hold in society, who is very richly 


25) 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


endowed ; and she perceived Eleanor often so encumbered 
with the adventitious importance of her situation, besides 
being viewed by every acquaintance so differently from what 
she would have been without it, that Matilda sometimes re* 
membered the fable of the peacock which asked J upiter for 
a splendid tail, and afterwards found himself so unable tc 
fly, and so beset by other birds of inferior plumage, that he 
would gladly, at last, have dispensed with his brilliant ap- 
pendage, to be placed on an equality with the rest. 

Matilda had been completely abstracted for some moments, 
till she perceived that the ladies were about to withdraw, and 
was surprised to observe that Mr. Grant and Eleanor were 
still apparently engaged in a secret conference, which ended 
by his rapidly glancing round the room, and clandestinely 
slipping a letter into the heiress’s hand, who received it with 
a smile of auimated pleasure, but at the same time, with an 
equally apparent desire of concealment, for when she sud- 
denly looked round, and caught her cousin’s eye, the color 
mounted to her cheeks with perplexity and annoyance, while 
she hastily secreted the document in her reticule. 

What it could be, Miss Howard had scarcely time to con- 
jecture, before her cousin hastily beckoned her to follow, say- 
ing she had something particular to communicate. Matilda 
had been seated for some time afterwards beside the dress- 
ing-room fire, before Eleanor seemed conscious of her pres- 
ence, for she continued nearly ten minutes in an anteroom 
with Pauline, giving some very lengthened directions and 
explanations, which were concluded with the most earnest 
injunctions on her Abigail to be speedy. When all was 
over, and Miss Fitz-Patrick at last sat down, her cousin had 
too much good breeding to testify any impatient curiosity 
respecting the object of her being summoned, but made a 
trifling remark in hopes that the business would soon be 
opened on which they Wad met ; but whatever that might 
be, it seemed for the moment entirely to have escaped Tier 
friend’s memory, who caught hold of any subject which 
might be suggested, and pursued it eagerly, as if that alone 
had any interest. At length it seemed necessary to recall 
her cousin’s attention to whatever she had been so anxious 
to communicate, therefore Matilda determined to lead the 
way. 

u You wished to speak to me this evening, I think, 
Eleanor ?” 

“ Oh yes ! — to be sure I did ! — what was I going to say ? 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


251 


— Now, help me, Matilda, for you can always guess what I 
would be at.” 

“ Perhaps it was about that letter which I saw Mr. Grant 
give you V* 

“ A letter ! — oh no ! — that was only a — a copy of a new 
song. Have you seen the — ‘ The charming woman V ” 

“ You had the words of that song some time ago ; but I 
shall intrude on your confidence no farther, seeing you do 
not wish it at present ; only, dear Eleanor, beware for your 
own sake, as well as Mr. Grant’s, how you encourage his 
intimacy without a definite decision as to what influence it 
may have on the happiness of either. He suffered all the 
sorrow of unrequited affection once ; so it would be your turn 
next.” This was said in a jocular tone by Matilda; and yet 
there appeared more of sincerity in her remark than 
Eleanor liked, and a pause of some moments ensued. “ Per- 
haps,” added she, coloring and hesitating, “ you meant to 
allow me one more opportunity of pleading for poor Nanny; 
and at all events, I must risk your anger for this once to 
preserve us both from all danger of future self-reproach.” 

With all the eloquence of nature and feeling, Matilda now 
represented Nanny’s situation, and entreated Eleanor to 
judge for herself, and not to be biassed by the misrepresen- 
tations of any one, so as to deny her an opportunity of being 
speedily reinstated in the good opinions of all around, by a 
strenuous investigation of the whole business. It was too 
late now to restore the poor girl’s happiness to what it might 
have been, for she understood that by Nanny’s own desire, 
her former lover was to be married the very next day to 
Martha, according to their previous engagement ; but at 
least her reputation was still within the reach of justification, 
and ought if possible to be cleared. Where there is a total 
vacuum, the largest bell is rung in vain, and Matilda’s efforts 
called forth no answering look from Miss Fitz-Patrick, who 
seemed entirely pre-occupied with some other subject, while 
an unconquerable smile played about her mouth and lurked 
in the corner of her eye. 

“ Well ! I shall think of all this, Matilda ; but now good- 
night, for you must be tired of talking so much, and of lis- 
tening to Sir Colin also — could you not give him the same 
hint that Gil Bias did to the Archbishop of Grenada about 
his homilies ? Don’t you talk of flirting, for I never went 
on in my life as you did this evening ! after having been 
fairly warned, too, so take the consequences ! Be careful 


252 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


not to lose your way through the passages, for all the 
lamps must be out ; and Pauline once spent an entire night 
on the staircase, in consequence of having been benighted 
there. Poor creature ; she is terrified at every turn after 
dusk, expecting to encounter one of our Highland ghosts in 
full kilt.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


255J 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Grace, that with tenderness and sense combin’d 
To form that harmony of soul and face, 

Where beauty shines the mirror of the mind. 

Mason. 


Matilda took leave, and rapidly proceeded towards her 
own apartment. As she traversed the large gloomy en trance- 
hall, silence reigned throughout its wide extent ; and at every 
door a draught of air threatened to blow out the light she 
carried, which flared up in her eyes, when she ventured to 
quicken her pace. At last a sudden gust of wind extinguished 
her taper, and Matilda was left in total darkness. Perfectly 
acquainted with the way, however, she groped along, feeling 
entire confidence, and had begun slowly ascending a steep 
winding staircase which led through the turret exclusively 
to her own apartment, when suddenly she became startled 
and astonished to hear the distinct sound of footsteps coming 
downwards. Matilda paused and listened. No one slept 
near, nor could there be a possible cause conjectured why any 
person should be in that direction ; yet the noise of steps de- 
scending was distinctly audible, accompanied by the sound 
of rustling silk. Scarcely a single individual is entirely free 
from superstition ; and though Matilda’s well-poised mind 
and enlightened understanding had never before yielded to 
supernatural fear, yet the sudden remembrance thrilled 
through her frame of Eleanor’s stories connected with this ' 
ancient staircase, in which it had been stated that during 
more than two hundred years there had been the report of 
sounds such as these being unaccountably heard on the spot 
where she stood. For one moment a cold shudder passed 
through her frame ; but hastily dismissing these apprehen- 
sions, she regained her self-command, and nerved her reso- 
lution by the thought that she must act for herself, as no one 
could possibly be summoned to her assistance. Matilda now 
called out as loudly as she could, to know if any one was 
there ; and as her voice became feeble from terror, she re- 
peated her words again. The sound echoed upwards in 


254 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


harsh hollow tones, when instantly afterwards a noise of 
whispering seemed audible above, a light gleamed there for 
an instant, and the rush of footsteps followed in an opposite 
direction, after which all was still. 

Matilda stood transfixed to the spot with amazement and 
fear, her heart ceased to beat, her limbs quivered, and she re- 
mained motionless, as if she had been turned into stone, 
while listening with intense attention to catch the smallest 
sound. Her hearing seemed to be sharpened by apprehen- 
sion, but she waited in vain. Resolved at length to brave 
the worst, she summoned a degree of desperate resolution, 
and proceeded as rapidly as the darkness would permit to- 
wards her own room, where she intended to obtain a light. 
In passing the dreary lumber-room opposite to her own. she 
again saw a momentary gleam in the distance, — a slight 
rustling noise called her attention to a white figure flitting 
out of sight in the gloomiest recesses, and instantly after- 
wards a loud crash took place which startled and bewildered 
her, so that, unable to hazard another glance around, she 
rushed into her own room, and with a fluttering heart and 
unsteady hand bolted the door. Matilda could not but re- 
mark that it was wide open as she entered, though the house- 
maids invariably closed it, and that her fire bore traces of 
having been recently and violently stirred, though not a 
servant on the establishment would have ventured up that 
staircase after dusk ; she therefore still trembled with ner- 
vous apprehension to find herself thus alone, and so com- 
pletely unprotected. All the theories of apparitions which 
she had ever read or could remember, failed to compose her 
agitated nerves. She trembled at ever crack which the old 
wainscot gave in her room, the rattling of the window-frame 
startled her, and a mouse in the wall would have almost made 
her faint. “ What poor weak creatures we are !” thought 
Matilda, trying to imagine some plausible explanation of all 
she had seen, and to compose her mind for the solemn duties 
of the evening. “ But yesterday I should have been the first 
to laugh at such a story as this, yet no human being can 
foresee how he will feel or act under any circumstances, until 
he is actually placed in them.” Impatient for the first peep 
of daylight, she opened the curtains, and looked out upon the 
pale, cold moon ; the deep shadows cut upon the grass, the 
glittering stream rolling beneath her window, the massy 
clouds careering along the sky, and the bright stars shining 
in perpetual beauty. There is something which speaks peace 


OK THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


255 


to the heart amidst a scene of such majestic stillness; and 
Matilda now began in some degree to forget her alarm. The 
agitation which she had witnessed in Nanny’s state of mind 
during the previous night, forced itself on her thoughts, ac- 
companied by a feeling of melancholy at remembering the 
callousness with which Eleanor had treated those distressing 
circumstances which followed, though she was consoled by 
the hope, that her cousin’s judgment had been in some de- 
gree perverted by the misrepresentations of Pauline and Mrs. 
Gordon. The remembrance next succeeded, of all that Mr. 
Armstrong had said, — or rather, according to his own phrase- 
ology, what he had not said ; but the whole was so indefinite 
and unpleasant that nothing remained on which she could 
have any desire to rest her meditations, except those pleasing 
words of Scripture, — which are consoling in every period of 
similar perplexity — “ He shall choose our inheritance for 
us.” But Matilda found it more difficult to banish from her 
mind the increasing uncertainty she felt respecting Sir Al- 
fred’s conduct. It was impossible to have any hesitation in 
believing that she was an object of peculiar interest to him ; 
he always betrayed a consciousness of her presence ; while 
the most trifling remark she uttered evidently acquired im- 
portance in his eyes when she made it, for at whatever dis- 
tance he might be off, it always seemed to reach him, and to 
arrest his attention in preference to every one else. His 
favorite position in the room was near her, and she could not 
but be aware how anxiously he had desired an opportunity 
of speaking to her unobserved during the evening. Yet 
when Matilda reflected that Eleanor was equally confident 
of Sir Alfred’s regard, she felt how prudent and desirable it 
must be, under whatever circumstances, to maintain an un- 
certainty of that which was not yet declared. Nothing cures 
people so surely of their faults as to see the very same errors 
exaggerated in the conduct or feelings of others, for we then 
become conscious of their danger and deformity. Miss 
Howard, therefore, being unable to avoid the conviction of 
her cousin’s vain and unwarrantable expectations, found it 
easier to diminish her own. Had she been addicted to 
amusing self-deceptions, Matilda might even have begun to 
flatter herself that the gay and lively Mr. Grant was be- 
coming conscious of her charms, as there had been much in 
his manner to her of late, which tended to that conclusion. 
From the moment when he observed her soothing kindness 
to the wretched Nanny, and her unaffected indifference to 


256 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


the interest which she herself excited on that occasion, ho 
adopted a new tone towards Matilda, full of respectful def- 
erence, while his attentions were frequent though unobtru- 
sive ; and the conversation which he addressed to her became 
often so superior to his general character and style, that 
during dinner that day she had been surprised and flattered 
at the change. Eleanor might often have remarked, if 
vanity did not lay observation to sleep, how different seemed 
the manner of gentlemen in general towards her cousin from 
what it was towards herself. A gay tone of easy familiarity 
they all assumed in suiting themselves to her, and it appeared 
often no better than the lively ’persiflage with which they 
were willing to amuse a wayward child, whom they perfectly 
understood, and whom it was their interest to humor and in- 
dulge in every capricious whim ; but when Matilda entered 
unobtrusively into the room, a look of interest became obvious 
in the manner which they adopted towards her, and of pleas- 
ure in observing one who seemed so unconscious of attract- 
ing notice, and so indifferent to admiration. People are 
usually most desirous to acquire that of which they are un- 
certain, and while all felt secure of amusing Eleanor, many 
had become anxious to please Matilda, whose remarkable 
richness of mind, united with her graceful turn of expression, 
her fertility of thought, and her tone of sensibility, gave a 
charm to her society quite unrivalled. With Eleanor many 
gay effusions of wit and vivacity sparkled under the influence 
of excitement, but when once her spirits flagged, the game 
of conversation “ was up.” But Matilda, on the contrary, 
had a quiet under-current of knowledge and observation 
which varied the occasional vivacity of her ideas ; and Mr. 
Grant had been heard to declare, after sitting next her for 
nearly an hour, in apparently serious discussion, that “ he 
did not know her equal at 1 a two-handed crack.'' ” 

Unable yet to feel sufficiently composed for retiring to 
rest, and finding it unusually difficult to banish from her 
thoughts those subjects which perplexed while they inter- 
ested her, Matilda rose to procure a book, and was surprised, 
in passing the toilet-table, to observe a letter laid conspicu- 
ously on her dressing-box. Snatching it hastily up, she ex- 
amined the handwriting, which was unknown, and the direc- 
tion, which was certainly for herself. Matilda then turned 
it over, to inspect the large and consequential-looking seal ; 
but she became startled to observe that it bore the impression 
of a tortoise carrying the globe, which, being somewhat of a 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


257 


herald, she at once recognized as the crest of Sir Colin 
Fletcher. Two monkeys, with long tails , for supporters, 
had often been the subject of wit among the Baronet’s friends, 
and the motto “ Je Fuis ,” was always quoted as particularly 
inappropriate. Eleanor’s warning now flashed into Matilda’* 
memory — she had lately heard proposals spoken of as an 
every-day occurrence, without apprehending any danger of 
meeting with one herself ; but, ignorant of the way in which 
these events took place, she felt a pang of self-reproach for 
having acted entirely on her own judgment, and for having 
allowed herself to believe that her cousin’s prophecies were 
merely in jest, when they ought at least to have produced 
some caution. Sir Colin’s advanced age had prevented 
Matilda from ever imagining the possibility of his marrying, 
but Eleanor had recently assured her, that no multiplicity 
of years could be any security. Coloring with vexation, as 
these recollections crowded into her mind, Matilda’s trepida- 
tion increased when she broke the seal and read as follows : — 

u Dear Madam, 

u Many letters begin with the use of a possessive pronoun, 
which is wanting here, seeing that I am not yet entitled to 
use it towards you ; but the very great encouragement with 
which I have lately been honored, entitles me to believe 
that before long I shall have acquired the privilege of doing 
so. My friend, Sir Jonathan Fowler, who is one of the 
cleverest people to be met with in society, and tells a story 
better than any man I know — with a single exception — for 
no rule is without one — indeed, I believe the present company 
is always accepted, and I trust in this instance will be Accepted 
too, which is a bon mot of which you may not discover the merit 
till my letter is finished — My friend, Sir Jonathan, I say, 
who had a story for every occasion, or who made an occasion 
for every story, as few people had a better art of introdu- 
cing them, or told one better when he set about it — I have 
actually seen him entertain a circle from breakfast-time till 
dinner, without stopping to take breath, when he could find 
an audience, which is not easy in these talkative times, as 
people have all got into an unpleasant habit of holding forth 
incessantly themselves, especially young ladies, which I par- 
ticularly disapprove of, being still of the old, exploded opin- 
ion, that they should be seen and not heard. Even my 
own narratives are not listened to as they used to be in for- 
mer days, which is perfectly unaccountable, since I now 


258 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


relate them with much more accuracy than formerly, when 
many essential preliminaries were carelessly slurred over — • 
as Mr. Grant does, who tells a story worse than any man I 
know — he has such a trick of dashing out the point at once, 
and setting people in a roar of laughter, without keeping 
them a moment in suspense. I really wonder that Mr. Grant 
receives so much attention in company, when others, greatly 
his superiors, scarcely obtain common civility. This very 
circumstance, however, has made me desirous to secure the 
constant society of one who has penetration and taste to under- 
stand good conversation, and discretion also to abstain from 
monopolizing too large a share of it herself, which is an un- 
doubted proof of the soundest good sense. Therefore, to 
make a long story short — a practice by no means to be 
recommended in general — let me ask a plain question, 
though, by the way, we are losing sight of my friend, Sir 
Jonathan’s story, which nevertheless, you can have ample 
leisure to enjoy hereafter, as we shall probably be much 
together, and I prefer telling a story to writing it, because 
of the pleasure it alfords me to watch your increasing anx- 
iety during the progress, and the animated satisfaction with 
which you at last reach the conclusion. Few people are 
more competent to appreciate your fascinations than myself, 
having always kept the best cook that France could produce, 
and entertained personages of the highest rank and distinc- 
tion at my table, besides having travelled in Sweden, Spain, 
America, and the Orkneys ; yet I never saw any young lady 
more highly gifted, and with whom I would prefer to spend 
the rest of my life. Hoping and believing that this good 
opinion is reciprocal, and that you are desirous, like myself, 
of an agreeable companion during our joint lives, I shall wil- 
lingly take you for better or for worse ; and should no an- 
swer reach me before breakfast to-morrow, I shall consider 
the whole affair to be favorably arranged, which will save you 
the trouble of a reply, and enable me to write, without delay, 
to Sir Francis, as well as to announce the joyful event in- 
stantly to our mutual friends here. Meantime, I am always 
and entirely yours, 

“ Colin Fletcher.” 

Matilda read over this strange farrago of nonsense several 
times, with renewed astonishment and confusion. Her mind 
had been agitated and bewildered by the previous events of 
that evening, so that she now felt perfectly incompetent 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


259 


to fix her thoughts with deliberation on anything ; but Sir 
Colin’s style of writing was so complete a specimen of his 
conversation, that on each revisal of his letter she felt as if 
he was speaking to her, and could not resist laughing, in the 
midst of all her annoyance, at the perfect certainty with 
which he evidently anticipated an acceptance. The first 
idea of its being possible for Sir Colin to marry, had been 
broached in her presence some days before by Miss Char- 
lotte Clifford, who never received the most accidental notice 
from any gentleman without at once coming to a conclusion 
as to his suitableness for herself ; and she had remarked, in 
allusion to Sir Colin, that it would be much more tolerable 
to marry a really old man than one who was merely middle- 
aged ; after which she had proceeded to deliver an elaborate 
panegyric on his house, which she had once seen, on his pic- 
tures, his furniture, his china, cutlery and damask , ending the 
whole by observing — c - x\.nd as for the man himself, he really 
is passable enough It had been then very evident that 
Miss Charlotte would have required no long time to delibe- 
rate before accepting an offer which so greatly shocked and 
annoyed Matilda, whose most prominent desire at the mo- 
ment was that neither Eleanor nor Mr. Grant should ever 
know it had taken place. Alarmed at the threat which 
was contained in Sir Colin’s concluding paragraph, that 
the whole affair should be divulged without delay, she in- 
stantly sat down to compose a polite and peremptory re- 
fusal. Matilda began with expressing her conviction that 
if he had a little longer delayed the declaration of his 
sentiments, Sir Colin must have discovered that the qual- 
ities he had supposed her to possess, which might render her 
a suitable companion, were entirely the result of his own 
imagination : which conviction might have prevented his 
feeling any regret on being assured that no circumstance 
could ever render it possible for her to accept his addresses. 
With many expressions of regret that her own inconsiderate 
conduct should have unintentionally appeared like an encour- 
agement of his preference, and with sincere good wishes 
for his future happiness, though she was not herself capable 
of contributing to it, Matilda then hastily concluded, and 
folded up her important despatch. 

Daylight had dawned before this u heavy task I? was done ; 
and, happy that her adventures for the night appeared at 
last to be terminated, she felt so utterly exhausted by the 
complicated feelings which had successively assailed her 


260 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


that she instantly retired and fell into a broken and agita- 
ted slumber. 

The first sound which awoke Matilda next morning, was 
the gong giving notice that it wanted but half an hour to 
breakfast ; and being accustomed to employ more than 
double that time in her morning duties, she hastily arose, 
and hurried through her toilet, having first rung for a house- 
maid, to whom she intrusted the care of instantly conveying 
her letter to Sir Colin’s valet, adding the most urgent instruc- 
tions for its being delivered without delay. Matilda hast- 
ened down with all possible despatch to breakfast, where 
the whole party was already assembled in its usual state of 
joyous excitement. No place remained vacant, except a 
chair between Sir Alfred Douglas and Sir Colin, of which 
she reluctantly took possession, feeling the more unwilling 
to place herself there, because it was precisely opposite to 
Eleanor and Mr. Grant, whose satirical eyes were instantly 
fixed on her, with looks of sparkling animation and humor, 
after which they exchanged a momentary glance of intelli- 
gence, as Matilda took her seat, and broke off a conference 
in which they had been previously engaged, and which was 
so suddenly terminated on her entrance that she could not 
but feel a vague apprehension of having been its object. 

“ The late Miss Howard !” said Eleanor, reproachfully. 
- Has anything extraordinary occurred to detain you so long ? 
We were afraid you had eloped this morning ; and Sir Colin, 
too, has only this minute appeared.” 

Matilda’s countenance instantly assumed its deepest hue of 
pink, and she tried to avoid further notice, by making no reply. 

“ You were probably writing letters,” observed Mr. Grant. 
“ That is a favorite excuse with ladies.” 

“ I envy your correspondent, Miss Howard,” said Major 
Foley. 

“ Ah ! perhaps, poor fellow ! he may be more deserving 
of pity,” sighed Mr. Grant, sentimentally. 

“ You should not leap at conclusions !” cried Eleanor, 
with marked emphasis. “ But I really wonder that Mr. 
Grant is ever listened to, when others, greatly his superiors, 
can scarcely obtain the slightest attention.” 

Matilda started when she recognized these well-known 
words, and again her color rose to crimson ; but she re- 
mained silent while suffering from a feeling of embarrass- 
ment greater than she had ever known before. A pause en- 
sued, which appeared endless, while she was conscious that 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


261 


Eleanor’s laughing eyes were maliciously bent on her with 
a look which she dared not venture to encounter. The case 
seemed desperate, for an alarming conjecture flashed into her 
mind, that Sir Colin’s letter, and her own, had been seen in 
some way by her cousin, and she wondered he did not al- 
ready feel conscious of these allusions to them ; but, on the 
contrary, Matilda saw, with increasing surprise, that her 
self-satisfied admirer was composedly stirring his tea, and 
scarcely attending to what passed. 

You seem all to be spell-bound, like the seven sleepers !” 
exclaimed Eleanor, delighted with the sensation she had oc- 
casioned. “ The first who speaks dies ! Matilda, do you 
know the game of 1 What is my thought like V Pray favor 
us with yours !” 

Before Miss Howard could reply, she was surprised to 
find a new direction given to the conversation, by Sir Alfred, 
who rarely addressed any except the person next him, and 
that generally in an undertone, but who now broke forth in 
a voice which attracted general notice. 

“ There is a purpose of marriage between Henry Douglas, 
commonly called Marquis of Dumbartonshire, and Lady 
Emilia Arundell! If any one here present knows any just 
cause or impediment ” 

Nonsense !” interrupted Eleanor, eagerly. u You must 
be quizzing, Sir Alfred ! I never saw you indulge us with 
a bit of gossip before !” 

“ That cuts you out of a very good thing, Douglas !” said 
Mr. Grant, laughing. “ While your Most Noble cousin was 
cruising in his yatch, many a sleepless night you must have 
enjoyed , thinking how easily a single blast in the Bay of 
Biscay might make you a marquis ! I should have rehearsed 
my maiden speech for the House of Lords pretty frequently 
before now, in your place.” 

u I know it cannot be true,” said Lady Susan ; “ because 
Lady Emilia told me, last time we talked of him, that he 
looked like a monkey just escaped from his chains ; and 
when I said that most people thought him rather fascinating, 
she replied that he might do, then, for most people, but not 
for her. It is certainly some mistake !” 

“ If his own hand and seal can give authenticity to the 
report, my intelligence is credible, but signatures are some- 
times taken great liberties with, Miss Fitz-Patrick. My 
cousin was quite as decided in his denial of the marriage to 
me ten days ago ; but not from any apprehension of an ini 


202 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


pediment on the lady’s part, as Dumbartonshire often de- 
clared that he would be accepted by any girl in London, if 
he merely wrote her a note.” 

44 How I admire modest merit ! But let me tell you, Sir 
Alfred, there are instances recently on record, where gentle- 
men equally confident of success, have been told that 4 no 
circumstances can ever render it possible for their addresses 
to be acceptable ! ,: ” 

Matilda stole an alarmed look towards Sir Colin, hoping 
to bespeak Eleanor’s forbearance on his account, if not on 
her own ; but she was astonished to perceive him insinuating 
his butter-toast into his mouth with perfect nonchalance. 
44 How well he carries it off !” thought she. 44 What would 
I not give for the same enviable command of countenance !” 

44 1 am much entertained,” continued Eleanor, in a tone 
of pique, 44 at Lord Dumbartonshire’s assurance ! I know 
nothing of London yet, but his note would have been pro- 
tested in Scotland often ; I can answer for that !” 

44 Gentlemen must speak in this confident tone to each 
other,” observed Major Eoley, bowing ; 44 but it is a mere 
flourish of trumpets to cover their retreat, as we all know 
that, nine times out of ten, they are refused.” 

44 Yes ! of course,” added Eleanor, laughing. 44 1 have 
always fancied, Sir Alfred, that you were born to sing through 
life the gay old song : — 

‘ I care for nobody, 

And nobody cares for me.’ ” 

44 That remains to be proved,” replied he, in a low tone, 
which seemed only meant to reach Matilda, who instinctively 
colored when he looked at her ; but Eleanor’s ready ear at 
the same time caught the tone of manly feeling in which 
these few words were spoken, and she dropt her eyes, with 
an air of gratified vanity. 

44 Douglas !” cried Mr. Grant, 44 positively this morning I 
begin not to despair of seeing you, some rainy day, what I 
have always ardently wished, 4 desperately and hopelessly in 
love !’ ” 

44 Thank you ! there is no saying what we may all come 
to at last ; for I think,” said Sir Alfred, still contemplating 
his letters, 44 some bridegroom has gone mad, and bit all my 
acquaintances.” 

44 Pray indulge us with your budget !” exclaimed Miss 
Charlotte, eagerly. 44 My whole crop of London < ^rres- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


283 


pondents has failed this year, like Sir Richard’s turnip-field, 
and 1 am most wretchedly in the dark about what goes on 
in the matrimonial world.” 

“ You should apply to the clerk of St. George’s, Hanover 
Square,” answered Sir Alfred. “ He is better informed than 
most people on these subjects.” 

u Present company Excepted !” interrupted Eleanor, with 
an intelligent eye on Matilda. “ And I trust they may be 
Accepted also, which is a bon mot of which you cannot yet per 
ceive the merit.” 

“ That puts me in mind of a case in point,” began Sir Co 
lin, deliberately. “ My friend ” 

“Sir Jonathan Fowler!” interrupted Mr. Grant. “He 
is one of the cleverest men on earth! Did you meet him, 
Fletcher, during your residence in Sweden, or the Ork- 
neys ?” 

“ I never visited either of these places, and am much too 
comfortable at home to think of travelling now.” 

“ Or of changing your situation in any way ?” 

“Why, there’s no saying!” answered Sir Colin, with an 
encouraging nod to Matilda. “ Marriage is a lottery, 
and 

“ You and I have always drawn blanks as yet, Fletcher !” 
added Mr. Grant, in a condoling voice. “ We have both 
been very ill used by the ladies.” 

“Speak for yourself!” replied Sir Colin, indignantly. “ I 
never yet put it in any lady’s power to refuse me, so I must 
not complain of their cruelty.” 

“ What an inexorable bachelor you are, Fletcher !” ex- 
claimed Sir Richard, laughing. 

Matilda’s eyes were gradually opened, during the progress 
of this dialogue, and she plainly perceived that Eleaner had 
taken advantage of her being so completely unsophisticated 
in society to impose upon her credulity with a counterfeit 
letter. From the moment that an idea of such a thing being 
possible dawned upon her mind, the whole became so obvious 
that she wondered at her own stupidity in not detecting the 
imposture at once ; but she had never before heard of such 
a trick being played, and the borrowing of any person’s seal 
and signature was rather beyond the limits of what she 
would have considered a legitimate hoax. But still she 
could not help being amused at the ingenuity with which it 
had been done ; and feeling almost as if she deserved to 
suffer for not having detected the conspiracy. During an 


264 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


eclat dc rire , occasioned by a lively sally of Mr. Grant’s. Sir 
Alfred said to her, in an undertone, 44 Miss Howard, you 
will easily believe that I had no share in this legerdemain 
of your cousin’s, but it will be an incessant annoyance till 
the jest is worn threadbare, unless you brave it out boldly.” 

Matilda gave Sir Alfred a grateful smile for his timely 
hint ; and as the opposite party still levelled all their strokes 
of humor at her, she resolved to show him that it was not 
thrown away. 

44 Mr. Grant,” said she, in her usual animated tone, 44 you 
should have got my epistle franked last night, instead 
of ruining me in postage ! Unluckily this morning I omit- 
ted to put the answer under your cover : but fortunately it 
seems to have reached the proper destination ; and, though 
4 private and confidential’ was not marked on the outside — 
you must have perceived that it ought to have been. I 
therefore appeal from Mr. Grant in a laughing mood to 
Mr. Grant in a serious one, whether it w r ould be quite right 
to make my blunder more public, or to let it reach the per- 
son who is chiefly injured by this inadvertence of mine.” 

The gentleman thus addressed held up his plate, in imita- 
tion of a fan, assuming at the same time a comical expres- 
sion of dismay, while his accomplices covered their faces 
with their handkerchiefs, and burst into a peal of laughter. 

44 Well! in my whole life I never saw people so easily 
amused,” observed Sir Colin, with a bewildered look ; 44 that 
seems to me a very sensible remark of Miss Howard’s. I 
have known very unpleasant blunders made about letters 
often, and could relate several remarkable instances of the 
kind. You may laugh, Grant, being not much a man of let- 
ters yourself, but 

44 Capital, Sir Colin ! — capital !” echoed the whole party, 
glad of an excuse to indulge their irresistible inclination to 
laugh, and feeling confident that he would be surprised at 
no excess of risibility after a jest of his own. 

44 1 envy you that brilliant sally, Fletcher !” said Mr. 
Grant, recovering his gravity ; 44 it is new and original ! 
Pray, allow me the use of it for a week or two — I shall sport 
the man of letters on the hustings to-morrow, and establish my 
reputation as a wit on the spot.” 

44 The story I was about to relate,” continued the Baro- 
net, in his usual persevering tone, 44 is very remarkable, and 
not at all generally known ” 

44 Ah, Sir Colin !” interrupted Eleanor, 44 we all consider 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


206 


you a perfect Arabian Knight. Everybody allows you to be 
the greatest story-teller living .” 

“ I shall trace its origin,” continued he, “ to show how au- 
thentic the particulars are ; but they must only be mentioned 
among friends, so let me beg these circumstances may go no 
farther.” 

“We are all quite upon honor,” replied Mr. Grant 
gravely, “ and if you will believe me, Fletcher, I never do, 
by any chance, repeat a story of yours. At the same time, 
it does appear unlucky that no one has ever yet acted Bos- 
well to your J ohnson. What an incredible loss it would be 
to the world if we finally lost all record of the innumerable 
1 laughable circumstances, remarkable incidents and authen- 
tic facts,’ with which the lumber-room of your memory is 
stored!” 

“ Very true ; and it seems astonishing to me how authors 
contrive to get so much leisure,” replied the Baronet, in a 
tone of superiority ; “ for my own part, I have sometimes in- 
tended to write such a book as Boswell’s Johnson, but the 
only difficulty is to find time .” 

“ Only fancy ! ‘ The Diary and Recollections of Sir 

Colin Fletcher !’” said Eleanor, laughing. 

“ Edited by his disconsolate widow !” added Mr. Grant, 
with a sly look at Matilda. “ That is the fashion now, Sir 
Colin. You must marry, and then we shall have the grati- 
fication of knowing, that a month after your decease, Lady 
Fletcher will be seated at her writing-desk, in deep mourn- 
ing, correcting the press, with a pen in one hand, and a 
pocket-handkerchief in the other.” 

“ What a remarkably good hand you write, Matilda !” ob- 
served Eleanor, looking archly at her cousin, as they rose 
to leave the breakfast-room. “ I took a copy of your letter 
this morning, that it may be ready for the next baronet who 
presumes like Sir Colin.” 

“Notice, to all whom it may concern,” said Sir Richard, 
“ what is all this nonsense you are talking to-day, Eleanor ?” 

“ Only that your niece has refused a certain gentleman, 
with the most barbarous cruelty ! I wonder how you could 
be so hard-hearted, Matilda, for it really is not in my nature, 
and if Sir Colin had only proposed to me ” 

“ Eleanor, this subject does not admit of discussion. My 
foolish credulity has brought his name into circumstances 
where he never would have placed it himself, and let me en- 
treat that the mistake may now be forgotten. You have 

12 


266 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


had quite as good a laugh as the joke deserves, and you owe 
me a little forbearance, after all my sufferings last night. 
A proposal and an apparition, both in one afternoon, form 
an accumulation of horrors more than any ordinary brain 
could have stood, and I really do not promise to survive such 
another night.” 

“An apparition!!” exclaimed Eleanor, with breathless 
eagerness, “ what can you mean ! tell me about it instantly ! 
I know nothing of this ! Sir Alfred, pray close the shutters, 
that we may enjoy it in perfection.” 

Matilda now gave an animated and amusing sketch of her 
midnight progress from Miss Fitz-Patrick’s room to her own, 
embellished with a retrospect of the traditions with which 
Eleanor had prepared her mind to be superstitious ; and she 
ended by candidly acknowledging the nervous fears which 
had at last so nearly got the better of her. 

“ And after all !” said Eleanor, in a tone of disappoint- 
ment, “ it was only Pauline, who stupidly lost her way, after 
depositing the letter. She had been charged, on pain of 
death, not to let you see her. How provoking ! that a com- 
mencement which might have done for Mrs. Badcliffe ends 
in so paltry a manner. By the way, I am surprised that it 
never occurred to me till this instant, that we might attempt 
a ghost upon you, Matilda. It might be admirably got up 
in the old lumber-room.” 

“ Pray never try so dangerous an experiment on any one, 
Eleanor ! The result has sometimes been worse than death, 
and entailed endless regret on those who attempted it. I 
could not be answerable for my own nerves, because there 
is a degree of latent superstition in every mind, which may 
be excited by circumstances.” 

“ I make no rash promises !” answered Eleanor, with a 
mischievous laugh. 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick !” said Sir Alfred, “ if I thought that 
we were liable to such terrifying visitations as has been de- 
scribed, nothing should induce me to remain here after dusk ; 
and I must obtain a solemn assurance that no one more su 
pernatwral than yourself shall be exhibited while I remain, 
or we must take advantage of what little daylight is remain- 
ing to hasten homewards. I am particularly afraid ot 
ghosts !” 

There was a humorous expression in the dark eye of Sir 
Alfred when he made this assertion, which showed Matilda 
that what he said was on her account, and she felt gratified 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


267 


at tlie unobtrusive attention -with which he seemed constantly 
on the watch to assist her in the many little embarrassments 
which she frequently encountered. 

If I abstain from an apparition, then, Sir Alfred,” asked 
Eleanor, “ will you escort us this morning to the Fairy 
Bridge ? It is well worth seeing, on account of its extraor- 
dinary beauty, being the highest single arch in Scotland.” 

“ Indeed !” replied Sir Alfred, sitting down to write a let- 
ter. “ I shall try to recollect the loftiest arch I ever saw, 
and add a foot or two.” 

“But you have not heard the most important part of 
my story,” continued Eleanor. u Thomas the Bhymer once 
prophesied that any gentleman who ventures to throw him- 
self over, shall find below the richest and most beautiful 
young lady in the world, glittering with jewels.” 

u What temptation could there be to take such a leap, 
while you remain at the top ?” replied he, continuing to write ; 
- Unless we go over hand in hand, I could have no security 
for the prophecy being fulfilled.” Eleanor gave a trium- 
phant glance at Matilda, as if to ask whether a doubt could 
remain on her mind of Sir Alfred’s partiality. 

u Now, Sir Alfred ! do bestir yourself and come while the 
morning is so bright. We shall offer you a carte blanche as 
to terms — a cigar and the privelege of total silence — my 
footman to carry a camp-stool, and I intend to hand you over 
the stiles myself.” 

u Thank you,” replied Sir Alfred, continuing to write ; 
1 am like the Frenchman who said when he reached the 
summit of a misty hill, 4 Aimez vous le beautes de la nature ? 
pour moi , je les abhorre !’ As far as the eye can reach, from 
this window, I am ready to admire anything you please ; but 
unless this ottoman could be metamorphosed into a palan- 
quin, I do not mean to leave it, till the world is better aired. 
Pray take my good wishes along with you, however.” 

u As much as to say, What a happy riddance you all are !” 
said Eleanor, retreating towards the door . 

“ Not all” replied Sir Alfred, looking for a moment at 
Matilda, but Eleanor heard only the tone of sensibility in 
which this ambiguous sentence was uttered ; and turning to 
her cousin, as they crossed the staircase together, she said, 
Now, Matilda, can you doubt his sentiments any longer ? 
Did you observe what Sir Alfred said about leaping over the 
bridge ? — That was very decided.” 

“ But, Eleanor, his rallying tone evidently showed that it 


268 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


was merely in jest ! — I shall never again volunteer my 
opinion upon this subject ; but when you ask it now, let me 
assure you of my candid and conscientious belief, that his 
sentiments are entirely misunderstood.” 

“ There are none so blind as those who will not see ! You 
were always very obstinate, Matilda, but I shall convince you 
some day, and that will be one of my greatest pleasures, when 
Sir Alfred declares himself. How delightfully odd and ec- 
centric he is ! — but I cannot make up my mind whether he 
would suit me or not.” 

“ Then try, if possible, to think that he would not !” said 
Matilda, earnestly. li My dear Eleanor, I appeal to your 
own knowledge of me, whether I would deceive you, or pre- 
fer my interest to yours, if both were at stake ; but it would 
be unlike our former friendship, not to tell you fairly my 
real opinion, that in appearing to prefer Sir Alfred to Mr. 
Grant, you are mistaking your happiness, as well as your 
real feelings.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


269 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


What spirits were theirs , what wit, and what whim, 
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb— 

Now wrangling and grumbling, to keep up the ball — 
Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all ! 

Goldsmith. 


During their walk to the Fairy Glen, Eleanor contrived 
that her cousin should again fall a victim to the prosing pro 
pensities of Sir Colin, while she proceeded at some distance 
herself, with a numerous train of attendants. Matilda had 
little notice to spare for any one, as her thoughts were pleas- 
ingly engrossed with tracing the almost imperceptible atten- 
tions by which Sir Alfred contrived to testify how continually 
she occupied his mind. It filled her with surprise, at the 
same time, to consider how greatly he seemed embarrassed 
after any unusual exhibition of his feelings towards herself, 
and how instantly he became reserved when there was a 
chance of his being remarked. u What can it all mean ?” 
was the question which forced itself upon her thoughts in a 
thousand different shapes, as she proceeded along the path 
in deep, though agreeable meditation. 

Meantime, Sir Colin’s voice flowed on in an uninterrupted 
stream, while, a pr&pos to an accidental remark on the ex- 
treme coldness of the day, he gave Matilda an elaborate de- 
scription of all the greatcoats he had used during many succes- 
sive winters ; and by the time they were nearly worn out, the 
subject happily diverged into a dissertation on coughs and 
colds, when the Baronet treated her to an account of a violent 
rheumatism which he had very nearly caught , about twenty 
years before, owing to a window having been left open at 
night, though he fortunately discovered the mistake in time 
to have it closed before retiring to bed. 

Sir Colin was charmed with the silent interest which Ma- 
tilda manifested in the dangers he had passed. Her large, 
bright eyes were intently fixed on him, and he was not aware 
that their usual intelligent expression was wanting, for when- 
ever he appealed to her, and asked whether what he related 


270 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


was not “ wonderful, fortunate, or remarkable,” she almost 
unconsciously echoed his words, with a preliminary adjective, 
giving additional emphasis to his expression. Matilda had 
on no previous occasion thus completely lost the command 
of her attention, but Sir Colin was filled with admiration of 
her good sense. He had never before met with so judicious 
a young lady ! so conversable ! so companionable ! so easily 
amused, and so highly intelligent ! u How superior to her 
cousin !” thought he, u whose flippant manner spoils conver- 
sation entirely ! If Miss Howard continues to play her cards 
as well, there is no saying what may be the consequences ! 
She knows what she is about !” 

But Matilda was very far from “ knowing what she was 
about.” The varied scenery of her extensive walk was, for 
the first time, unmarked by her eye, the impediments in her 
path were now mechanically surmounted, and the incessant 
hum of Sir Colin’s voice became only obvious to her senses 
when he paused for a reply, while she rapidly traced over 
her whole intercourse with Sir Alfred. — The peculiar interest 
he had testified on their first meeting at Barnard Castle, — 
the deep attention he paid to all she said, — -the assistance 
and protection he was constantly on the alert to afford her 
in Eleanor’s society, and the ambiguous expressions, either 
of love or of friendship, which he had long taken every op- 
portunity of addressing to her. There was lately even a 
tone of diffidence in his manner of speaking to her, far dif- 
ferent from his aspect of cold indifference to others, which 
rendered the contrast only stronger ; and as this change oc- 
curred to the remembrance of Matilda, her color became 
brighter, and she walked with a more elastic step than be- 
fore. u But Eleanor has observed nothing of all this !” 
thought she, with a sudden revulsion of feeling ; “ and who 
is so observant as she is, if there had been any truth in all I 
have fancied ! No ! I will not plunge myself into the dark 
abyss of disappointed affection and unavailing regret, by al- 
lowing vanity, even for this one hour, to deceive me. The 
customs of society warrant all the attention Sir Alfred has 
yet shown me, and I must not imitate Eleanor in miscon- 
struing his meaning.” 

Matilda’s reveries were interrupted by the party in ad- 
vance suddenly coming to a dead pause, and she was in- 
stantly restored to the consciousness of Sir Colin’s presence, 
by hearing him conclude his long oration with a remark 
which was intended to be quite new and original. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


271 


“ So, you see, Miss Howard, nothing can be more dan- 
gerous than a draught of air.” 

“ What is it that gives a cold, cures a cold, and pays the 
doctor?” asked Mr. Grant, wheeling suddenly round. u Do 
you give it up, Fletcher? — a draft !” 

“ As for curing a cold,” began Sir Colin, deliberately 
u there’s nothing equal to ” 

“ Leaping over a three pair of stairs’ window ! That is 
what I always recommend to my friends, for it saves such a 
fortune in lozenges.” 

“ Now, good people ! here is the cottage of old Janet, which 
I brought you to admire,” cried Eleanor, rounding an angle 
in the glen, and displaying, with evident exultation, a scene 
which nature and art seemed to rival each other in embel- 
lishing. The sunbeams played gaily through the inmost 
depths of a lovely valley, and streamed along the bright 
edges of every tree and Wamble, which glittered with the 
silver whiteness of a clear hard frost. The distant moun- 
tains were covered with patches of snow, varied by the dark 
face of many a rough gigantic precipice. The river danced 
merrily along over a bed of granite, and after rushing and 
tumbling through massy blocks of stone, it suddenly shot 
over the highest pinnacle of the rock, and fell in one vast 
arch of foam into the dark and fathomless basin beneath. 

Contrasted with the bolder features of this gorgeous land- 
scape stood Gowanbank, a lovely rustic cottage, which seemed 
formed to become the abode of peace and contentment. It 
crowned a sloping bank, which rose from the margin of the 
stream ; a little white paling surrounded the garden, which 
was fancifully planted with groups of evergreens, the var- 
nished and sombre leaves of which were tipped with golden 
light, and edged with fringes of snow. Every bough, and 
every rock, was hung with wreaths of sparkling icicles, which 
were illuminated by a thousand prismatic hues, rivalling the 
tints of a rainbow; and the deep overhanging roof of the 
cottage had so sheltered the southern wall, that it still 
bloomed with the scarlet blossoms of the pyrus japonica. 

“ Now for a sonnet, or a fugitive piece of some kind, Mr. 
Grant !” said Eleanor ; “ you ought to be an eloquent im- 
provisatore , having resided so much in Italy!” 

“ Indeed, Miss Fitz-Patrick, I possess the finest poetical 
vein in the world ! It has but one little defect, that the 
moment feelings should be put into words, the whole evapo- 
rates ! I have a thousand times seized a sheet of paper, feel 


272 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


ing precisely like Byron or Moore, but invariably, after writ 
ing a large emphatic Oh ! at the top of a page, I have been 
obliged to desist.” 

“ How very unlucky ! for I was planning what a good 
amusement it would be, if our large party were to set about 
writing a Christmas Annual. You must each send a contri- 
bution, and I shall sit for the frontispiece myself. Sir 
Colin’s story must be limited to twenty pages ; Mr. Grant 
may throw in a few comic sketches ; and Major Foley shall 
court the muses.” 

“ I can be at no loss for a subject,” said he, with a gratified 
bow. 

“ That is precisely what I intended you to say ! Captain 
M‘Tartan must toss up some good shipwrecks for us, and be 
sure to invent a splendid storm.” 

“ If a leaf of my log-book can be of any service, you are 
welcome ; but otherwise, I never speak of the ship upon shore, 
and would rather wave the subject. Besides I may perhaps 
publish a volume myself, to be called 1 Dulse and Tangle, or 
Yarns at Sea,’ dedicated to the first Lord of the Admiralty, 
whoever that may be.” 

u Colonel Pendarvis ! we shall accept any of your adven- 
tures which have not already enlivened the United Service 
Journal. By the way, I must make an exception of your 
trip to Calcutta, because nothing new can ever said be about 
India. My receipt for a book upon that subject would de- 
scribe them all. Begin with a tiger-hunt, then follows a 
suttee ; a visit to a rajah, two or three serpents, plenty of 
currie, and an escape from an alligator.” 

“ One might quite as generally characterize all descrip- 
tions of savage countries, which are invariable repetitions of 
the same thing,” said Mr. Grant. “ Whether the subject be 
New Zealand, Polynesia, Greenland, the South Pole, or the 
North, you may bind them up in alternate pages without 
being found out. Describe the universal outcry for glass 
beads and knives, the filthiness of the natives, their thievish 
propensities, their wonder at first seeing a ship, some detest- 
able particulars of the food they eat, and a great deal about 
the author’s gentlemanlike horror at observing them use 
their fingers, as if these poor creatures ought to starve until 
they had silver forks — and the whole is wound up with a 
tremendous picture of cruelty, depravity, vice, and super- 
stition.” 

“ There is but one use in reading such representations,’ 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


273 


said Matilda, coloring, for she felt it an effort to say any- 
thing out of keeping with the general tone of the conversa- 
tion. “ They render us more anxious to encourage those 
who visit distant lands, and encounter all that misery, in 
order to substitute knowledge for ignorance, virtue for vice, 
and the light of Christian hope for the darkness of vain su- 
perstition. It is a noble endeavor, and should be nobly 
encouraged.” 

“Now for a subscription book!” cried Eleanor, satiri 
cally. “ I like the new fashion of penny collectors best. 
This is not the first time, I assure you all, that my cousin 
has been reduced to beggary ; for she attacked me two days 
ago to assist in making out a trousseau for the daughter of 
that old woman who lives at Gowanbank, and who was mar- 
ried, I believe, this morning. Her sister Nanny may supply 
Martha with ornaments, for I am sure she has taken plenty 
of mine !” 

“ You are not sure, Eleanor,” whispered Matilda, indig- 
nantly. “No one can be sure ; and till it is proved we have 
no right to say so. They are in great distress,” added she, 
with emotion. 

“ Ah ! that is her best apology,” said the heiress ; “ she 
was very pretty, and very poor ; so it was, as Mrs. Gordon 
said, a great temptation.” 

“ I did not allude to her poverty, Eleanor ! she is poor, 
but I could be answerable for Nanny’s honesty, as well as 
for her mother’s ; and they yet hope to see these calumnies 
refuted. With respect to pecuniary difficulties, they have 
nothing now to complain of, for old Janet told Dr. Murray 
that a gentleman from Barnard Castle, who accidentally 
heard their story, called yesterday on horseback, and after 
remaining there some time, left a very liberal donation, 
which will enable Martha and William to begin the world 
in some comfort.” 

“ Now ! who could that be ? — from Barnard Castle, did 
you say ? A charitable incognito ! how very romantic ! — 
Mr. Grant do not assume that look of amiable conscious- 
ness, for I never even suspected you ! — Colonel Pendarvis ? 
no ! — Major Foley ? impossible ! — Ah ! Sir Colin ! you are 
precisely the sort of person to do good by stealth, and 
‘ blush to find it fame.’ ” 

“ I have not gone near a cottage for seven years, except 
to light my cigar. Miss Fitz-Patrick ! but there was a 

12* 


1574 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


curious incident that occurred to me in the village of 

Nettleton, which may enliven us while we stand here ’ 

Stop, Sir Colin ! we must investigate Matilda’s story 
before you gain a hearing. One at a time, gentlemen, if 
you please, as the countryman said to a quack doctor, 
when he and his donkey both brayed at once.” 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick ! you have rather spoilt that circum- 
stance ; it was ” 

“ How dare you say so, Sir Colin ! — Tell me that I have 
improved or invented a story, and still hope to be forgiven ; 
but to hint that I can possibly spoil one is an unpardonable 
affront. I shall not listen to a word you say for three 
weeks, so now consider yourself in Coventry.” 

“ Eleanor,” whispered Matilda, slipping her arm into 
Miss Fitz-Patrick’s, and drawing her aside — “ dear Elea- 
nor ! your laughter at this moment goes to my very heart ; 
for it would be difficult to conceive the state of heart-break- 
ing grief in which that poor old woman has lately been 
weeping beside her once cheerful fireside. Give the subject 
a moment’s serious thought. I cannot be so near without 
stealing over for an instant to inquire about Janet. There 
is a confused report that something very distressing occurred 
at their wedding to-day, but I cannot understand what it 
was, for the ceremony was to take place at Dr. Murray’s, 
where neither Nanny nor her mother intended to be pres- 
ent ; and the young couple went immediately afterwards to 
the village of Clanpibroch. I shall never be missed by the 
party here ; but let me take a kind and compassionate mes- 
sage from you, Eleanor, to cheer their hearts, for they 
greatly need it. May I say that your judgment of Nanny 
shall be suspended till a fair, candid, and open investigation 
is made into her conduct ? for that is what Dr. Murray 
promises to bring about without delay, and to which he says 
you consented.” 

“ Did I? The less done in that way the better for Nan- 
ny, I suspect! but she has completely hoodwinked that 
good excellent man, by her plausible stories ; and we must 
really get him to hear the truth from Mrs. Gordon and 
Pauline.” 

11 Eleanor !” said Matilda, taking her hand, while the 
tears gathered in her eyes, “you were not always so reckless 
of other people’s misery as now ! I remember the time 
when we wept together, because Nanny was thought to be 
dying, and our dear aunt Olivia could scarcely console us. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


275 


It would have been better for that poor girl to have been 
cut off then, if her future years are to be darkened by dis 
grace and misery.” 

Matilda spoke with all the eloquence of intense feeling ; 
and she had touched the right cord at last. Few people 
whose hearts are recently hardened by worldly prosperity 
can recall the tender emotions of their own childhood with- 
out sentiments of regret, and without having their benumbed 
feelings softened for a moment by observing the contrast of 
former and present character. 

u Matilda, you are right ! I begin to fear that my con- 
duct has been rash and hasty in this business. Poor Nan- 
ny! everything most precious in life to her is at stake. She 
certainly was a good, excellent creature long ago. I dare 
not think of it all at present though. I see it now, as I 
ought to have done from the first. She may possibly be 
innocent, and then indeed I have been criminally careless. 
Ah ! Matilda, you are always the same, and if our dear aunt 
could look back, she would see you unchanged, but oh, what 
would she think of me . ? ” Eleanor walked rapidly on for a 
few steps, and seemed scarcely able to refrain from bursting 
into tears. u These thoughts sometimes shoot across my 
mind, Matilda, but I dare not let them remain. Do what 
you like for poor Nanny; take all the responsibility from 
me if you can. Bring her back to Barnard Castle when you 
like, and tell her we shall thoroughly and heartily investi- 
gate the whole affair. Miserable as it would make me in 
one respect to find her innocent, I shall most truly rejoice 
at it, and do all that money can do — which is not a little — 
to make up for what she has suffered.” 

“ Thank you, dear Eleanor, — a thousand thanks,” an- 
swered Matilda, accompanying her cousin, who hastily 
rejoined the party, as if afraid to trust herself longer on 
the subject, which had evidently affected her more than she 
wished to acknowledge. A moment afterwards she was 
talking in her usual tone of careless vivacity. 

“ Mr. Grant, I see you are trying to imitate the Irish 
beggar we met last night ; but, as papa’s valet said, when 
he saw the eclipse of the sun, 1 it is quite a failure, sir 
even with all my love of giving alms, you would never be- 
guile me of a single sous.” 

u Allow me to differ from the last speaker ! I could bet 
any sum on being able to maintain myself for a month, with 


2 76 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


no other resource than the credulity of a benevolent public. 
What do you say, Miss Howard ?” 

11 Your tone is much too whining and professional. I 
have an instinctive perception of impostors, and could 
almost pledge myself to detect one anywhere. The Irish- 
man, for instance, whom you describe, seems to be half 
knave and half fool, but I should certainly not like to meet 
such a fortune-hunter on the road when I was alone, for if 
ever he got anything from me it would be fear rather than 
charity that extorted it.” 

“ Ah ! Matilda is easily moved, and not a bit wiser than 
other people,” said Eleanor, laughing ; 11 you would have 
parted with half-a-crown, as I did yesterday, if you had seen 
poor Paddy — though I am certain it went straight to the ale- 
house, or assisted to buy lemons for his fillet of veal.” 

“ If I had thought so, neither force nor fraud should have 
got a shilling out of me,” replied Matilda, smiling, while she 
gradually slackened her pace, and dropt behind the other 
pedestrians. At length, having caught a favorable opportu- 
nity, she left them entirely, and hastened over a rustic bridge 
which led to the cottage. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


2 11 


CHAPTER XIX. 


“ The bursting heart, the tearless eye, 
The cold and torpid frame, 

The smother’d groan, the broken sigh, 
The grief she dare not name.” 


When Matilda swung open a little white gate, which led 
through the garden to Howanbank, and saw the whole land- 
scape brilliantly lighted up with a sheet of sunshine, she re- 
membered her first visits there in autumn, when the placid 
old woman always met her with a smiling welcome at the 
door, and Martha used to suspend her labors, with many ex- 
pressions of pleasure and gratitude for the kindness she 
showed them in coming. Often formerly had Matilda lin- 
gered on that threshold, to breathe the fragrant air, as it 
wafted the perfume of various flowers which then profusely 
decorated the little enclosure ; but the wind had passed over 
them, and they were gone as though they had never been, 
while thus it was also with the peace and cheerfulness which 
once reigned within those walls. 

Sad as were Matilda’s anticipations of the scene which 
awaited her in the cottage, she was far from being prepared 
for the sight of such utter desolation as that which caught 
her eye when she entered. Old Janet was alone, seated 
upon a low stool, with her face buried in her hands, and 
bowed down almost to her knees, the very image of feebleness 
and misery. Her spinning-wheel, the busy hum of which 
had seldom before been silent, now stood idle and neglected ; 
the furniture, usually so clean and polished, looked dusty and 
disordered ; the fire had nearly gone out, and her breakfast, 
which seemed to have been long since prepared, lay un- 
touched by her side. How impressive is the silence of ex- 
treme grief! Matilda stood for a moment immovable at the 
door with surprise at the sight of such unexpected distress, 
and then gently advancing to the old woman, she took her by 
the hand, which was cold as death. Janet feebly returned 
the pressure of Miss Howard’s fingers, and looked up with an 
expression of momentary wonder, showing a face so haggard. 


258 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


so shrunk, so cold and disconsolate, that Matilda started with 
astonishment ; but seeing her unable to speak, she post- 
poned all inquiries for the present, and, with characteristic 
activity, gathered the remaining embers of the fire together, 
and relighted them into a cheerful blaze. She then boiled 
the kettle afresh, and after preparing some tea, tried to rouse 
once more the old woman’s attention, by entreating her to 
take some. 

There is a magnetic power in the accents of real kindness 
which reaches to the inmost recesses cf mental suffering ; 
and the voice of pity and commiseration in which Matilda 
addressed old Janet spoke instant peace to her mind. She 
looked at first bewildered and faint, but gradually revived to 
a greater appearance of consciousness, while her sympathiz- 
ing visitor continued to administer refreshment to her ex- 
hausted frame. Matilda could not but wonder to find old 
Janet so entirely deserted ; but seeing her still unable to 
speak, she at length insisted on supporting her tottering 
frame to bed, which with some difficulty she succeeded in 
doing. Having now done everything for her bodily comfort, 
Miss Howard ventured to begin a cautious and tender inquiry 
into the cause of such unaccountable distress. 

11 Janet, I fear you are very unwell to-day ?” 

u Almost in eternity,” replied the old woman, feebly, while 
she turned on Matilda a countenance as perfectly white and 
as rigid as if she had been already dead. 

u You seem very poorly, indeed, Janet ; I never saw you 
unfit to work before ; and why are none of the neighbors 
here — or Nanny?” 

“ They are all gone to look for Aer,” replied she, in a 
hoarse deep voice, and speaking with great effort, for the old 
woman became frightfully agitated. “ Oh, Miss Howard,” 
added she, covering her face with her hands, u have you not 
heard yet ? My poor Nanny ! we thought she had not known 
the hour of Matty’s wedding — that she did not wish to see it 
— but when all was over, and they came out of Dr. Murray’s 
house, she suddenly appeared. Her mind was gone, but yet 
she gave them her blessing. She wished them happiness — 
she spoke to them both, and then rushed out of sight. No 
eye has seen her since. They tried to stop Nanny, but she 
fled as if a spectre had pursued, and none could speed like 
her. I saw her bonnet brought home from the river, but that 
sweet face, which was the pride of my heart, we never shall 
look upon again. Oh ! why did she ever leave me !” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


279 


A burst of grief choked the old woman’s utterance, and she 
sobbed aloud. Who can look upon the tears of helpless age 
and not weep also ? Matilda’s whole heart was melted with 
pity for the afflicted mother, and she shuddered to think of 
Nanny’s probable fate. Even Eleanor had a -place in her 
thoughts at this moment, when she reflected on all the re- 
morse that might await her for causing so much wretched- 
ness. Matilda’s tongue seemed to be chained when she gazed 
on the intense agony of old Janet, and tried to think what 
might be said to console her. She longed to fly for Dr. 
Murray, whose words would have more experience and au- 
thority than her own ; but yet she could not go, without first 
using her best endeavors to soothe and alleviate such heart- 
rending sorrow. She did not now take that tone of admoni- 
tion and superiority with which most people in the height of 
prosperity can teach others how they ought to bear sudden 
calamity and anguish of spirit. She did not deal out sen- 
tences nor attempt the slightest exhibition of good sense — 
but Matilda had a heart to feel, and she felt and knew what 
would be the effect of every word on the suffering mind she 
desired to comfort. She did not forget that it was to an aged 
Christian she spoke, whose afflictions might obscure the 
brightness of her hope for a moment ; but who needed only 
to be reminded of the inheritance which awaited her, rather 
than to be taught a due estimate of its unspeakable worth. 

“ This is a sorrowful hour indeed, J anet,” she said in a 
tone of heartfelt sympathy. “ You may well say, like Na- 
omi, ‘the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me.’ I 
trust, however, that instead of being like Rachael, who re- 
fused to be comforted, you are spared to be an example of 
that power which can support us under the severest calami- 
ties. I weep myself, J anet, to think of your affliction, and 
what must you feel — oh ! how great are the sorrows that 
this world can bring ! — but we are sinners, and have cause 
to be thankful, whatever is laid on us, so long as we are not 
eternally condemned. Think how short a time any of us 
have to mourn and how soon you will be in the presence of 
that Great Being in a better world, who has always been 
with you on earth.” 

“ Yes, Miss Howard, death seems neither so strange nor 
so distant as it used to do, and oh ! it will be welcome now. 

I am in the dark strait, when grief has struck me to the 
heart, and resignation has scarcely yet been granted. Age 
and grey-hairs, sickness and infirmity, have all been gather 


280 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


mg round me for years, and my heart was still supported 
and cheerful — but my child — my poor Nanny ; she has de- 
stroyed herself, and how can I ever know peace again ! My 
sorrow is the only one that religion does not cure, because the 
more I think, the worse it seems, that she should have died 
in a way which religion forbids. Every step that approaches 
my door this day seems to bring me the last awful tidings, or 
perhaps to be the sound of those who are bearing in her 
lifeless body.” 

“ We are not certain of the worst yet. She may possibly 
be saved. Let us cling to hope, and remember that Nanny 
was quite unconscious of what she did — her intellects have 
certainly been wandering for some time past.” 

“ She was deeply tried, Miss Howard ; she was disgraced 
and desperate. Oh ! it comforts me to hear you still speak 
of hope. No one would say this morning that they had any. 
She flew straight to the river, which is deep and rapid. If I 
could but see Nanny once again — if I could but hear that 
she was cleared of all the evil that has been said, my eyes 
would close on every earthly concern in thankfulness and 
peace.” 

“ We may trust, Janet, that her former companions who 
raised these stories, will now be shocked at the mischief 
they have done, and repent sufficiently to make them confess 
her innocence. Miss Fitz-Patrick was already resolved to 
investigate the whole affair, and though justice is sometimes 
reserved for a better world, still I hope that even now your 
daughter’s character will be cleared.” 

“ You are right, my good young lady — either now or here- 
after the truth will be known, and why should I be impa- 
tient ! My days on earth will be few, and they must not be 
wasted in vain lamentation. That dear child is taken from 
m«, probably to make life less desirable, when its close is 
so near — and death less a subject of regret. I have a great 
work to do, for I must prepare to suffer and to die, not as 
those who have no hope ; and though nature feels, and my 
heart seems broken for Nanny, yet the Christian may be- 
lieve, in such an hour of extremity, that this sorrow is the 
last which shall come throughout an endless eternity.” 

Matilda thought, from Janet’s altered appearance, that 
indeed she had not long to endure, whatever the result of 
her suspense might be : and having extended her visit to 
the utmost possible limit, she now prepared to withdraw, es- 
pecially after having been relieved by the entrance of a 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


281 


neighbor, who had hastened back from his unsuccessful 
search. Before departing, however, she read the twelfth 
chapter of Hebrews, which has been for ages the consola- 
tion of successive generations, while they have mourned and 
wept in this world of changes. An expression of resigna- 
tion and peace gradually stole over the old woman’s counte- 
nance as Matilda proceeded, far different from the ghastly 
and haggard look which it had worn when she entered ; and 
at the conclusion, Janet slowly and solemnly raised herself 
in the bed, and pronounced a devout blessing on her young 
and lovely visitor. u Now,” added she, u I shall endeavor 
patiently to await the time, when it shall be my turn, like 
the grass, to be cut down ; and though she, who was as the 
flower of the grass, is fallen before me, yet the word of the 
Lord endureth, and shall be my portion forever. It com- 
forts the heart of a poor, helpless being like me, Miss How- 
ard, that there are rich and precious blessings which my 
prayers may bring down on one whom I have no other way 
to serve, and many and constant shall they be for you. Fare- 
well, my kind young friend ; you leave me as well as I shall 
be on this side of eternity ; and probably our next meeting 
will take place where uncertainty and sorrow will be for- 
ever at an end. Grief and sickness are our best appren- 
ticeship for death.” 


282 


MODERN SOCIETY", 


CHAPTER XX. 

I am unable, yonder beggar cries, 

To stand or go. If he says true, he lies. 

Donnk. 

A heavy fall of snow had come on while Matilda re- 
mained at Gowanbank, but the weather now cleared up into 
the very beau ideal of a winter day — bright, cold, and clear. 
The air was like ice, the pure, unsullied snow lay thickly 
over the buried fields, and a cloudless sunshine threw the 
broad shadows of the overhanging branches along her path. 

She looked upon the glittering landscape around, and ex- 
perienced that rapturous pleasure of existence, which, inde- 
pendent of every other cause, often exhilarates the spirits 
amidst such scenes of natural beauty, and gives a sensation 
of happiness which can scarcely be traced to its source. 
Everything seemed new and delightful. The blue ethereal 
sky, in its matchless splendor, proclaimed the glory of Him 
who has stretched the heavens as a span, and the pure, un- 
trodden snow reminded her, by its dazzling whiteness, of 
those garments in which glorified saints shall at length be 
clothed. It would be as easy for our bodies to exist with- 
out the beating pulse within, as for our minds to live in a 
religious state without meditation ; and Matilda now re- 
flected, in astonishment, how much her thoughts were lately 
occupied and almost engrossed, with the amusements and 
petty interests of the little circle in which she had recently 
mingled. Excepting Sir Alfred, and, she could not but 
add, with a smile of partial indulgence, an exception also in 
favor of Mr. Grant, the visitors then at Barnard Castle 
seemed in their conduct, to resemble a number of spoilt, 
and not very amiable children, in their continual necessity 
for restless excitement, their exaggerated views of every 
little vexation which interrupted present gratification, their 
total regardlessness of each other’s real feelings, and their 
almost undisguised desire of pre-eminence and distinction. 
The Miss Cliffords gloried in testifying openly an abhor- 
rence of Captain M‘Tartan and Mr. Armstrong, as if they 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


283 


had been themselves the highest caste of Brahmins thrown 
into contact with, a couple of Pariahs from the desert ; while 
Colonel Pendarvis and Major Foley lived in a perpetual 
horror of Miss Marabout and Miss Murray, whom they 
pricked their ears and shyed at, as one of their own hunters 
would have done at a donkey on the road, and whom they 
classed together as a couple of undistinguishable old maids. 
Lord de Mainbury at the same time, looked down on the 
Major and the Colonel, as mere soldiers of fortune, who 
could scarcely keep a tolerable stud ; and Lord Alderby 
despised Lord de Mainbury, as a man of yesterday, while 
he constantly whispered some old family tradition about his 
Lordship’s grandfather having once been butler at Alderby 
Forest. Matilda wondered to think that all this was con- 
sidered the highest refinement of good breeding, and she 
could not but reflect how inferior the dancing-master and 
the school of fashion are to that school of the heart which 
taught how the feelings of the most insignificant are to be 
treated with respect, and how each should consider another 
better than himself ; but religion is intended to eradicate 
entirely that selfishness, which it is the utmost effort of 
mere good manners to conceal , and which many who profess 
to be perfectly well-bred do not even attempt to hide. 
Matilda had often remarked that many people will treat 
such as are decidedly their inferiors with kindness and con- 
descension, while the whole weight of their exclusiveness 
and repulsive hauteur is reserved for those who approach the 
nearest to themselves in rank and station, because then 
comes the struggle for that pre-eminence which they are 
anxious to assert ; and even with some who affect to act on 
Christian principle, it becomes a salvo to their own con- 
sciences if they stoop gracefully to encourage those who are 
far removed from themselves, and, at the same time, rudely 
elbow off such as they come in immediate contact with. 

Something similar is the feeling of Christians in respect 
to the doctrine and conduct of those with whom they asso- 
ciate — the nearer that any one approaches to their own 
standard the more narrowly do they scan deficiencies ; and 
while they can look with pity and indulgence on many who 
are near the threshold, there is a feeling of rivalship which 
too often steals into the sentiments with which those are 
observed who seem as far advanced as themselves. “ How 
trifling all those vain competitions appear, now that I am 
removed from the scene of them !” thought Matilda ; “ and 


284 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


it is probably with such feelings as I here contemplate tha 
last few days, that, in a future life, we shall all look back on 
the scenes and the pleasures which are now so enticing ! 
The most important events in life will then appear to have 
been insignificant, except in so far as they served to lead us 
on in our Christian course, and the greatest pleasures we 
have ever known will seem but a dream of folly, except such 
as were consistent with religion.” 

Her steps seemed as light as the falling snow, while 
Matilda advanced speedily homewards, and rapidly entered 
a long, narrow lane which led towards the approach. A 
few foot-marks in the centre pointed out the path, and 
showed that others had preceded her there during that 
morning, or else the air of profound solitude which pervaded 
the whole scene might have made it appear as if there were 
not another being in the world but herself. The massy 
stems of the beech-trees, like a long colonnade of pillars, 
rose in majestic dignity on each side, throwing their long 
branches out till they met overhead, and were curiously in- 
terlaced in the distance, like a Gothic window of some an- 
cient cathedral. The resplendent snow, glittering like sun- 
shine on marble, stretched as far as her eye could reach, 
and the dazzling beams of a setting sun reposed on the far 
distant mountains, and shed a glow of ruddy light over the 
horizon. The air was perfectly still, and not a sound could 
be heard but her own footstep on the crisp, unyielding frost, 
until Matilda was suddenly startled from her agreeable 
meditations by the loud rough voice of a beggar, who 
emerged from behind a hedge, and, to her no small alarm, 
addressed her. His appearance, which seemed by no 
means prepossessing, answered completely to the description 
she had already heard from Eleanor. He was dressed in a 
long, loose greatcoat, such as is usually worn by the country 
people in that neighborhood ; a large handkerchief, which 
covered his ears, was tied over the rag of a hat with which 
his head was adorned. His face seemed begrimed with 
snuff, and one of his eyes was fast closed up, which gave a 
strange, unnatural contortion to his whole features. He 
looked athletic, though evidently very lame, and his accent 
was Irish. 

“ Och ! long life to your honor, and many of them, 
madam,” said he, coming up to her, in a tone of humor, 
which called an irresistible smile into Matilda’s counte 
nance. “ Sure you’ll be after giving something to a poor 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


285 


distressed cratur, who has nine starving childer, besides 
myself, and not a drop of comfort for any of us ! Give me 
a tinpenny, and, by your lave, you’ll never be a farthing the 
poorer.” 

Matilda could not help being amused at the degage air 
with which he addressed her, and the look of Irish humor 
which glittered in his only eye ; but she hurried on without 
answering, being a determined enemy to imposture. 

“ It’s you that have the face of charity and goodness, 
ma’am ! sure you’ll not belie such looks ! — winter would 
turn to summer at the sight of ye ! Indeed, Miss, we are 
in very indolent circumstances.” 

“ I can give you nothing at present,” replied Matilda, 
trying to look very stern and decided. u Call at Barnard 
Castle to-morrow, and perhaps Sir Richard may have your 
case inquired into.” 

u But a lady like yourself wouldn’t be after walking 
without a purse entirely ! and you’ll give something as a 
token of respect. A poor boy such as I wouldn’t be after 
returning empty-handed as he came out ; and throth, it’s 
not an hour since I dreamt that one like yourself came by. 
Didn’t I see you, as plain as my staff, take a shilling out to 
give me, and return the purse into your bag ?” 

“ You know,” answered Matilda, hurrying rapidly on, 
u dreams go by contraries.” 

“ Then it’s the purse you’ll give me, and the shilling 
you’ll keep ! och, but that bates the world. By the stick in 
my hand, I’d cut a throat any day for half as much ?” cried 
the beggar in an ecstasy of gratitude ; 11 you’re a lady, every 
inch of you ! The purse then, if you plase, ma’am, and 
thanks t’ye !” 

He held out his hand with an air more like command 
than entreaty, and Matilda began less and less to like her 
persevering companion. u We must examine into your 
claims,” said she, hurriedly ; “ I never give to people who 
beg on the high road.” 

« Och, honey ! is it into your parlor that I must come ? 
And for character, I’d refer you to Paddy O’Connar from 
Kilkenny. No! — he’s been in jail this month past — the 
drink makes fools of us all. Then there’s Jerry Sullivan, 
but he’s gone beyond seas ; just a trifle of money he lifted ! 
We’re all tarred with the same stick ; but you’ll hear the 
very best of me from myself, and who knows better? I’m 
mortal sober always, and haven’t tasted above three glasses 


288 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


to-day ; but I’ll drink your health this afternoon with the 
two shillings you’re going to give me ; and may you never 
die while you live.” 

Matilda really wished it had been less against all princi- 
ple and conscience to bestow something on the poor man, 
whose reckless audacity had a degree of humor along with 
it, which diverted her in spite of considerable alarm which 
she felt at their being so completely alone. 

“Troth, ma’am,” added he in a piteous tone, “you don’t 
know what I may be reduced to, if something is not given 
me soon.” 

“ To what?” asked Matilda, rather relenting. 

“ To work , ma’am ! Bestow a trifle on me any how, for I 
wouldn’t wish to rob you .” 

There was something sinister in the villain’s eye when he 
said this, which greatly intimidated Matilda, who expected 
the next instant that he would snatch away her bag, or per- 
haps even produce a pistol. She quickened her steps, but 
became more and more alarmed on discovering that he 
walked faster also ; and his lameness, which had been at 
first so conspicuous, became scarcely perceptible. If he 
had been walking for a wager, it would have been impossible 
to keep up better with her accelerated pace. At length a 
sharp turn in the lane disclosed another long, straight path, 
of nearly half a mile in extent, about the centre of which 
Matilda descried the distant appearance of a gentleman. 
Instantly, with the speed of thought, she darted forward, 
and knowing that few people could ever keep up with her 
rapidity, she flew on for protection towards the figure in 
advance. No sooner did the Irishman observe her inten- 
tion to take flight, than he started forward, evidently desi- 
rous to impede her progress, and when she quickly eluded 
his intention, he loudly vociferated for her to stop. Terror 
now gave wings to Matilda’s feet, which scarcely touched 
the ground, so that long after the beggar had ceased his 
pursuit, she continued to fly, thinking she still heard the 
sound of his footsteps, and his loud calls on her to return. 
She even fancied, for a moment, that her own name was 
reiterated in the distant air, and that a noise like laughter 
echoed behind, but all this only gave fresh impetus to her 
speed. The next moment, panting, breathless, and faint, 
Matilda overtook the person whose form at a distance had 
encouraged her to attempt an escape, and grasping his arm 
with convulsive energy, she could not articulate a word, but 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


28 ? 


stood for some moments gasping to recover herself. At 
length, having raised her head to look at this unintentional 
deliverer, she suddenly encountered the astonished gaze of 
Sir Alfred Douglas. If fear had already deprived Matilda 
of utterance, agitation now completely overpowered her. 
The scene she had lately gone through at Gowanbank, the 
panic which had seized her about the Irishman, and the 
confusion of having intruded so unexpectedly on Sir Alfred, 
altogether combined to agitate her nerves so powerfully, 
that every attempt to articulate only ended in a convulsive 
quiver of the lips. She pointed backwards on the path 
which had so lately been the scene of her flight, but not a 
trace was left of the miscreant who had alarmed her, and, 
overcome with the shock, she leant against a tree and burst 
into tears. 

After anxiously surveying the surrounding country, where 
nothing appeared visible but a wild waste of snow, — and af- 
ter pausing some moments in the evident hope of an expla- 
nation, which Matilda’s increasing agitation rendered every 
moment more improbable, Sir Alfred at length turned to her, 
with a look of respectful interest, but at the same time he 
spoke with good-humored raillery, while still gazing all 
round, in obvious perplexity and surprise. 

” Pray, Miss Howard, what planet have you dropt from ? 
It is said that talking of friends always brings them into 
one’s presence ; but if thinking had the same effect, you 
would never be absent from me. I am concerned to observe 
how much you have been frightened : tell me what I can do. 
Show me any tangible foe to exercise my valor on — I am 
ready to shed the last drop of my blood, and so forth — but 
rub my eyes as I may, there is really nothing to be seen. 
It can scarcely be our old enemy, the ghost, in such broad 
daylight % Above all things, do not treat me to a fainting 
fit, as I have no turn for nervous complaints, and could 
scarcely find a drop of water within three miles at least !” 

Matilda could not help smiling, and made a vain attempt 
to speak, but her voice died away in inarticulate whispers. 
Sir Alfred now became seriously embarrassed and distressed. 
He took her hand, with a look of real sympathy, and anx- 
iously watched Matilda’s countenance. 

“ It is only a trifle,” said she, attempting to laugh, but 
still unable to finish her sentence. 

“ Can anything be a trifle that relates to you ?” replied 
he, in a tone which only increased her confusion : but at 


288 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


length, by a powerful effort, she so far recovered as to begin 
some hurried explanation in broken sentences, of all that 
had occurred during the morning, when, having accidentally 
looked round, and giving a sudden exclamation of alarm, she 
pointed to a neighboring hedge, over which the beggar’s head 
had for a moment become visible, though he instantly after- 
wards vanished. Sir Alfred did, however, catch a momen- 
tary glimpse of him likewise, and rushing forward, he sprung 
over the fence, and seized the Irishman by the collar. Ma- 
tilda’s first impulse would have been to resume her flight, 
but terror chained her to the spot, an agitated spectator of 
the scene. She felt amazed at the agility and strength of 
Sir Alfred, who usually appeared so inert ; and temporary 
suspense terminated in the most animated sensation of pleas- 
ure, when she saw her unexpected champion wrest the mis- 
creant’s stick out of his hand, and at once overpower him. 

“ I’ll bet ten to one you don’t do that again. Sir Alfred !” 
exclaimed a voice that seemed familiar to Matilda’s ears. 
£t You took me at a complete disadvantage, for I was more 
overcome with surprise than even by your extraordinary 
prowess. Do indulge me with another round, Douglas, and 
let Miss Howard be bottle-holder !” 

“ Grant, your idea of a jest is rather different from mine !” 
replied Sir Alfred, with as little appearance of surprise as if 
he had known him all along. A distant laugh was immedi- 
ately afterwards heard approaching, and Eleanor appeared 
rapidly advancing with the rest of her party, and exclaiming 
in a tone of triumphant pleasure, Well this is really beyond 
my hopes ! Matilda is such an easy dupe that there is no 
glory in imposing upon her ! but you, Sir Alfred, who could 
have expected it ! Mr. Grant, I give you infinite credit for 
executing my plan so admirably. The giant has turned 
into a wind-mill. It is the best joke, without exception, that 
ever I saw !” 

“ Then you have been unfortunate, for I never knew a 
worse,” replied Sir Alfred, looking at the pale countenance 
of Matilda, who was doing her utmost to get up a laugh. 
“ Some people will sacrifice more for a bad jest than I would 
ever do for a good one. Miss Howard, let me hope that you 
have not suffered materially from this amusing little jcu 
d) esprit ? u 

“ Not at all !” answered Matilda, in a tremulous voice, 
while her limbs shook so that she could scarcely stand. “ I 


OR THE MARCH OP INTELLECT. 


289 


shall recover in a moment. How stupid of me not to see the 
whole at once ! I am quite well now.” 

u Allow me to differ !” said Sir Alfred. u You are still 
very nervous, and I must insist on your taking my arm.” 

“ With great pleasure,” replied she, coloring and smiling. 

“ I wish it had been my hand that you are so willing to 
accept,” added Sir Alfred in an undertone ; and when 
Matilda looked up for a moment, his eyes were fixed upon 
her with a look of penetrating interest. “ Miss Howard,” 
added he, in an altered voice, “ I trust you will believe me 
incapable of lightly alluding to a subject which is of sacred 
importance to me, and in which my whole future happiness 
may yet be at stake. I know not what interest it may here- 
after have for you, but it involves the earthly hopes of my own 
existence. Time will enable me to explain the circum- 
stances which have involved me for the present in a situation 
of embarrassment, in which my conduct has been such as 
might have been misconstrued by any one less candid and 
generous than yourself. I could not even dare to say so 
much as I have done, were it not for the fear that you may 
attribute that reserve to inclination, which is only the result 
of temporary necessity.” # 

Matilda suddenly recollected at this moment what Miss 
Marabout has said respecting a promise of Sir Alfred’s to 
his mother, on the subject of at least postponing any declar- 
ation or engagement ; and without pausing to analyze the 
emotions to which this remembrance gave rise, she made a 
hurried and agitated reply. Sir Alfred then led the conver- 
sation into a new channel, involving an interesting discussion 
of various subjects, wherein that similarity and diversity of 
opinion was elicited between the parties which gives its 
highest zest to conversation, leading them on insensibly to 
the development of those sacred principles and engrossing 
interests in which both were so deeply versed. 

“ Mr. Grant !” said Eleanor, looking sarcastically after 
Matilda, u my cousin has got up a perfect scene on this 
occasion ! You should really assist in supporting her 
home !” 

*• No ! no ! I have performed my part to please you, but 
it went too far. When once I get into the spirit of anything 
there is no stopping me. I once acted Mad Tom on the 
summit of Hover Cliff, and if Douglas had not seized hold 
of me in time, would have fairly leaped over in the enthu- 
siasm of the moment. But positively, Miss Fitz-Patrick, I 

js 


200 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


am afraid of your cousin, she is so very fascinating. Such 
perfect naivete and good humor, with so much talent and 
principle, have altogether captivated me, and I would pro- 
pose to her to-morrow, if you can give me a single peg to 
hang a hope upon.” 

“ Indeed !” said Eleanor, changing color, and with a look 
of angry surprise. u It was scarcely necessary to tell me 
this ! I thought you had known the world better, Mr. 
Grant, than to entertain one lady with a rhapsody on the 
charms of another !” 

“ Ah ! Miss Fitz-Patrick ! we understand each other now, 
and you acted very fairly long since, by putting me on my 
guard in good time against presumption. You know very 
well that I went through all the agonies of death for you 
last year, and how hard a struggle it cost me to fly away on 
the wings of disappointment. As Don Whiskerandos says, 
however, ‘ One can’t stay dying here forever !’ and I should 
not have ventured to your enchanted castle at all if there 
had been the least apprehension of troubling you with a re- 
lapse. My present case is equally hopeless, unfortunate 
man that I am ! for every one may see how completely Sir 
Alfred is devoted to Miss Howard, and there probably exists 
not a man living who presumes to imagine he could rival 
him.” 

“ You are in jest, Mr. Grant !” exclaimed Eleanor, an- 
grily, for every word he had said spoke daggers to her vanity. 
li Sir Alfred cares no more for my cousin than for Miss 
Marabout.” 

11 Pray convince me of that, for I shall be most willing to 
believe it. Indeed, Miss Fitz-Patrick, there are not two 
Matilda Howards in the world, or I might be happy ; but as 
it is now, my friend Douglas deserves her, and you may de- 
pend upon it they understand each other.” 

Eleanor walked rapidly on, in evident agitation, and pre- 
served an unbroken silence for some time, while Mr. Grant 
endeavored to seem unconscious of it, and sung, in the most 
beautiful cadences of his melodious voice, the air of “ One 
struggle more!” suiting the tune to the words, for it gradu- 
ally deepened into melancholy, till the sound at length 
died away entirely, and, for the first time in their lives, 
Eleanor and her ci-devant lover pursued their course with- 
out speaking. Mr. Grant had long wished for an opportu- 
nity of communicating to Miss Fitz-Patrick his conjecture 
respecting Sir Alfred’s attachment, because, in his anxious 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


291 


solicitude for her happiness, he observed the increasing in- 
terest she took in his friend’s society, and could not but 
apprehend that it might be dangerous to her peace; for, 
greatly valuing, as he did, the high character and brilliant 
talents of Sir Alfred, he thought it impossible to over- 
estimate the admiration and attachment which he ought to 
excite. 

Nothing could be a greater mistake, however, than the 
conjecture of Mr. Grant with respect to Eleanor’s real feel- 
ings. Her vanity would have become deeply wounded, 
could she have been convinced that Sir Alfred viewed her 
with indifference ; but to imagine for a moment that he also 
preferred Matilda, was so revolting to her wishes, that she 
could not allow it to be possible, though the suggestion re- 
newed in her mind that rankling feeling of jealousy which 
had long burnt fiercely within her breast, and occasioned 
actual misery to herself, while it destroyed every emotion 
towards her cousin but dislike. Painful, nevertheless, and 
corroding as was the state of her mind on this subject, Mr. 
Grant little imagined how greatly he erred in attributing to 
disappointment, on account of his friend, the sudden pale- 
ness of Eleanor’s cheek, and the unnatural hectic which 
succeeded it. No one could appreciate more highly than 
Miss Fitz-Patrick did the noble appearance and high repu- 
tation of Sir Alfred. That which gave its richest embel- 
lishment to both, his unswerving principle a».d his deep de- 
votion of mind, she could neither know nor value, — yet she 
saw him the object of universal respect and admiration ; 
she knew him to be gifted with everything that gives grace 
or dignity to high station ; and she had long considered it 
as a triumph which she must one day achieve to see Sir 
Alfred at her feet. To gain such a victory Eleanor never 
paused to consider how far her own happiness or his might 
be involved in the enterprise ; but her feelings were in 
reality no more than many young and enthusiastic minds 
must frequently experience in the presence of any one 
whose distinguished conduct has gained him pre-eminence 
in the world. The sentiment of profound interest and 
admiration with which she regarded him might have been 
transferred, almost unaltered, to the first celebrated poet, 
or applauded orator, or successful hero whom she acciden- 
tally met ; — it was even with a modification of the same 
feeling that she admired and endeavored to please Dr. 
Murray, for vanity alone rendered her desirous gain a 


292 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


supreme interest with one whom every other person was 
seeking to attract. But there was a deeper sentiment in 
the breast of Miss Fitz-Patrick, which had leng been smo- 
thered, but which now made itself heard with a voice that 
could not be stilled. Never till this moment had she 
doubted the constancy and the fervency of Mr. Grant’s 
attachment, nor that the day would come when she should 
be called on to choose between him and his friend. If ever 
she became wearied and disgusted by the officious assidu- 
ities of her self-interested lovers, who, she was conscious, 
were admirers more of her estate than of herself, she had 
long been accustomed to recur with her earliest feelings of 
regard to Mr. Grant’s unalterable affection, for it was im- 
possible to know him, and to doubt its entire disinterested- 
ness. The frank and open-hearted disposition of her former 
lover, his graceful manners and high tone of independence 
and good feeling, had long since made an indelible impres- 
sion on her heart ; and there had been a degree of consid- 
erate kindness in his tone and manner of late, partaking 
more of the friend than of the lover, which she had attribu- 
ted to diffidence, while it pleased and gratified her. Unac- 
customed to restraint or to self-examination, Miss Fitz- 
Patrick went on recklessly following the bent of every 
wayward and fantastic caprice, but forgetful that the des- 
tiny of her whole future life might be involved in the im- 
pression which her conduct conveyed at a time when she 
was thus thinking only of instant gratification. While 
Eleanor felt surprised and shocked to discover Mr. Grant’s 
estrangement, she could not but remember now a thousand 
instances in which her own careless indifference and heed- 
less vivacity must have given him a full conviction that the 
alteration was mutual. Whatever Eleanor actually pos- 
sessed she became indifferent to, and saw only its defects, — 
but uncertainty always brought forth its real worth ; and 
above all, her lover now appeared to the utmost advantage 
in her eyes when he was irretrievably lost ; every evidence 
of his altered feelings enhanced beyond measure the merit 
and the value of her liberated captive ; and when he spoke 
of his former admiration in a careless tone, which showed 
how entirely it was considered as a u tale of other times,” 
she no longer thought of his small property and uncertain 
inheritance, but she felt the inestimable value of his long- 
tried attachment ; and she for the first time became fully 
aware of the place he occupied in her affections. 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


293 


To conceal these thoughts from every one, and especially 
from Mr. Grant, became now Eleanor’s first object ; and no 
one who observed her brilliant spirits during that evening 
and the following day, could have suspected the aching void 
which she felt within her heart, the loathing with which she 
viewed all that had hitherto dazzled or delighted her, and the 
melancholy depression which she vainly endeavored to con- 
quer. Life seemed to Eleanor for the time like a dreary farce, 
in which she must act her part with spirit, on account of the 
spectators, to whom her own private feelings were indifferent 
and unknown. Mr. Grant alone perceived the change, which 
he attributed entirely to the discovery of Sir Alfred’s pre- 
vious attachment, though Eleanor still entirely disbelieved 
that, and saw nothing in his conduct towards Matilda to dis- 
prove her own opinion. She had no conception of strong 
feeling which was not displayed ; and in the silent interest 
with which Sir Alfred attended to all Matilda said, and in 
the unobtrusive attentions which accidentally fell under her 
notice, she acknowledged no apprehensions to herself of a 
deeper sentiment than the most ordinary civility. 

Mr. Grant redoubled his assiduities to Eleanor, with a 
friendly desire to divert her thoughts from Sir Alfred, whom 
he fancied that she observed with a degree of anxious in- 
terest, the motive for which he entirely misconceived. There 
was more of gravity and feeling than usual towards her, on 
account of his consciousness that she was suffering, — he 
blamed himself for not having sooner put Eleanor on her 
guard ; and never did his powers of entertainment and fasci- 
nation come out with greater effect than on the first evening 
when Miss Fitz-Patrick became conscious that she had lost 
him forever. 


294 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


CHAPTER XXI. 


At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 

His looks adorned the venerable place : 

Truth from his lips prevail’d with double sway, 

And fools, who came to scoff, remain’d to pray. 

Goldsmith. 


u No muffins — and cold rolls for breakfast ! — that is a sure 
indication of its being Sunday,” cried Eleanor, next morn- 
ing. with a forced attempt at vivacity. “ I am always more 
hungry to-day than any other day in the week, one has so 
little to do. If anybody proposes going to church this bleak 
snowy morning, I must order the carriage at twelve, and our 
pew may be recommended as the best of all places for culti- 
vating coughs, colds, rheumatisms, influenzas, and all the ills 
flesh is heir to. Lady Susan ! No, by the way, this is your 
letter-writing day. I always know when to expect a line, if 
you are in my debt. Lady Montague ! with that cold, it is 
out of the question. Young ladies ! Charlotte Clifford ! your 
weekly headache has come on. Well then, the noes have it, 
and we may read prayers in the library, with Miss Marabout 
for chaplain.” 

Miss Fitz-Patrick cautiously shunned looking towards her 
cousin, who felt conscious of the intended omission. Her 
color rose, but she carefully avoided appearing to notice the 
oversight, and continued calmly conversing with Mr. Grant, 
who had previously addressed her. 

“ Stop, Miss Fitz-Patrick, we have not been polled yet,” 
said he, turning hastily round ; “ here is one vote, I am cer- 
tain, on the opposite side.” 

u Oh, no,” whispered Matilda, anxiously, for she already 
anticipated the pleasure of stealing off and proceeding alone 
to Gaelfield. u I have a conveyance of my own which takes 
me always to church and back again. It is the safest and 
most wholesome diligence in the world, which Eleanor 
knows I constantly use from preference, in all weathers and 
on all occasions.” 

u You don’t mean to walk ! — it would be impossible to get 
through the snow without stilts to-day.” 


on THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


2<J5 


“ And yet many who are much more delicate than I am 
will make the effort. You have no idea, Mr. Grant, what 
frail old creatures will come tottering to church this 
morning — what numbers will rise from beds of sickness 
to go there, and what hundreds have learned from Dr. Mur- 
ray to forget present inconvenience, while seeking to avoid 
future misery. If I had not a paramount interest of my 
own in frequenting church, 1 would even go to-day for the 
pleasure of sympathizing with others in the joy it gives many 
to attend. Poor old Janet said yesterday that it was the 
only remaining happiness which she could feel it possible to 
enjoy in this world ; and for my own part, I hope and be 
lieve it will survive all others.” 

“ This is the first time, Miss Howard, that I ever thought 
you had a tolerable opinion of me,” replied Mr. Grant, in a 
voice between jest and earnest. 4£ You only speak seriously 
to those who are in some degree to be trusted, and in whom 
you take an interest. I must have always appeared a mere 
Tom Fool in your eyes, for I deserved nothing better, and 

yet when we are together I have occasionally felt ; but 

it is no matter now,” added he, in a tone of agitation, and, 
turning suddenly round, he looked at Sir Alfred for a mo- 
ment in silence. u No, I would make no change if it had 
even b^en possible. I do not wish it. With all my faults, 
let me never be selfish.” 

“ Grant, my good fellow, what were you soliloquizing there 
for with such a tragical look ?” said Sir Alfred, taking his 
arm as they left the breakfast-room. “ I hope it was the re- 
hearsal of such an oration for the hustings as shall resound 
throughout the univerte next Tuesday ?” 

“ I was thinking, Douglas, of a different election, in 
which your success is still more to be envied ; but on both 
you shall have my warmest and most hearty congratula- 
tions.” 

u Do not feel too sure of my requiring them on either 
occasion,” said Sir Alfred with emotion. “ You are aware, 
Grant, that I have no concealments from a friend like your- 
self, and that I am still bound to remain in uncertainty 
with respect to Miss Howard’s sentiments.” 

u Can you seriously mean to express any doubt of suc- 
cess ?” asked Mr. Grant, in a tone of incredulity. “ It is 
not like you, Douglas, to affect such a thing.” 

“ If my acceptance were an affair that rested merely on 
the ordinary calculations of prudence and eligibility, I 


290 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


might be as confident as you expect ; but where principle 
and inclination are alone likely to be consulted, you might 
feel, Grant, if you were as deeply attached as I am, what 
suspense and diffidence mean.” 

“ Say what you will, I only wish my prospects were as 
happy and as securely founded as yours, Douglas ; but it 
is enough to have a friend whose prosperity is as dear to me 
as my own. Many an hour of good counsel you have wasted 
on me, but the day has come when I begin to perceive its 
full value, and to think that my time, talents, and opportu- 
nities, such as they are, might be put out to better interest 
than they have ever brought me yet.” 

Sir Alfred clasped his friend’s hand in his own with 
emotion, while he looked earnestly and seriously in his 
countenance. “ Grant, there was but one thing wanting to 
the perfect unity of our friendship. I always believed that 
this hour would arrive. Let us talk together alone, for I 
have much to say. Perhaps you will walk with me to 
church ?■” 

“ If it rain icebergs I will.” 

Matilda paused before entering the church, to admire, as 
she had often done before, a degree of neatness unusual in 
country churchyards, which often gave her pleasure as she 
passed. Miss Murray had once described the disorder in 
which she originally found it, with long rank grass, and 
nettles waving in neglected luxuriance over the departed 
fathers of the congregation ; a few wretched, unwholesome 
sheep pasturing amidst the graves, while the broken and 
dilapidated wall admitted children and dogs from the vil- 
lage to play their noisy gambols amidst broken and ruinous 
tomb-stones, which it was a favorite amusement with the 
boys to deface. Dr. Murray often saw occasion to lament 
such irreverence for the dead in other places, but it was one 
of his earliest acts at Gaelfield to assert that respect which 
is due from human beings towards each other, even in their 
last stage of humiliation and decay. He considered that 
the universal feeling, even among savage nations, of venera- 
tion for their deceased friends and parents, was one of the 
few natural impulses which is really respectable, and ought 
to be encouraged. He could admire no enlightened wisdom 
that raised men above those little sympathies and tender- 
nesses of nature, and without long delay he abolished the 
use of churchyard mutton in his parish — repaired the wall, 
mowed down the grass, re-erected many prostrate tomb 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


297 


stones, and restored to the whole scene that air of silent 
and solemn dignity suited to the awful habitation of the 
dead. 

Matilda was seated in church for some time before the 
service began, and watched with agreeable interest the 
gathering of a very numerous congregation, whose coun- 
tenances wore an expression of salutary seriousness which 
harmonized with the reflections of her own mind, and made 
her conscious that the pleasure of sympathy is indeed a 
welcome auxiliary to that of devotion, while our prayers are 
mingled with those of others in the public worship of God. 
Her heart expanded with joy and peace when she con- 
sidered herself placed there to enjoy the rich moral and in- 
tellectual feast, to which all who are willing may consider 
themselves invited guests ; and Matilda could not but think 
what infinite wisdom there is in the appointment of a stated 
period, when the busiest, the most ignorant, the most care- 
less, and the most diffident may, in a moment, without effort, 
without difficulty, without being ashamed, or even conspicu- 
ous, enjoy the advice and the entire concentrated knowledge 
and experience of such a man as Dr. Murray, whose whole 
existence was devoted to seeking out those truths which could 
be told them in an hour ; and Matilda reflected with what 
despair men might have often dropt down on the threshold 
of religion, if their own unassisted efforts had been the only 
human means by which the powerful convictions of con- 
science must be followed up. Day by day Dr. Murray re- 
peated over the simplest truths to his people. Like a 
mother teaching her child his simple hymn, which she re- 
hearses again and again without making perceptible pro- 
gress, till at length he is found to be thoroughly, though 
gradually, versed in his lesson, so the venerable pastor con- 
stantly reverted to first principles. He varied his explana- 
tions also by a profusion of apt illustrations, by the men- 
tion of appropriate incidents, by allusions to circumstances 
of general interest in the congregation, and by quoting 
largely from other theologians ; at the same time, Dr. Mur- 
ray never mentioned from the pulpit any names, however 
eminent, which are not recorded in Holy Scripture, for he 
considered that no authority should be so honored, from the 
seat of ministerial instruction, except such as are divinely 
appointed. 

When the service was about to commence, Matilda heard 
a step advancing along the gallery, which proved to be that 

13 * 


298 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


of Sir Alfred, who placed himself in an opposite corner of 
the pew, and without giving even a transient glance around, 
he opened the large Bible which lay before him, Mr. Gran* 
followed, and, with characteristic rapidity, threw himself 
into a seat, instinctively passed his fingers through his hair, 
looked at his watch, and then folding his arms, he fell into 
a profound and evidently very serious meditation. 

Dr. Murray’s deep, melodious voice broke the solemn si- 
lence which prevailed, and as he proceeded in the service, 
intense attention might be traced in every countenance. So 
absorbing was the interest with which Matilda listened, that 
she at once forgot there was another individual in the sacred 
edifice but herself and the preacher, while every word seemed 
to be directed immediately to her own conscience. The en- 
ergy of Dr. Murray’s address, which seemed always skilfully 
aimed at the heart, consisted not in vehemence of gesticula- 
tion, or in rhetorical display, but there was an impressive 
dignity in his manner, and a power in the modulations of 
his richly-toned voice, which enchained the most wandering 
mind, while his profound vein of thought, his forcible argu- 
ments, and his awful views of life, in all its hopes, its fears, 
and its responsibilities, evinced that a full conviction rested 
in his own mind of the tremendous importance attached to 
those subjects on which he treated, and that, whether he de- 
scribed the terrors or the hopes of the Gospel, his language 
was that of a heart filled with reverence towards God, and with 
love towards man. Dr. Murray made a rule to avoid prolix- 
ity in his sermons. Everything he did was upon reflection 
and principle, rather than from impulse ; and as his object 
was “ by any means to win some,” he considered that infir 
mities of age, restlessness in childhood, and languor from in 
disposition, limited the power of attention in many ; while, 
even to the most devout of his people, ample leisure was de- 
sirable at home to digest what they had heard by meditation 
and prayer. Many unskilful attendants on the sick have 
imagined that if, by administering a small dose of medicine, 
they diminished the evil, an unlimited application would 
produce instant recovery ; but, as Baxter says, “ It is safer 
to feed your flock like chickens than to cram them like tur- 
keys.” Dr. Murray, therefore, was never heard to boast of 
having found it impossible to stop, because, on all occasions, 
lie avoided vain repetitions, and never grudged the additional 
trouble which Paley complained that it cost him to “ make 
his sermons short.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


290 


When the numerous congregation at Gaelfield silently 
dispersed, without having dissipated their serious impres- 
sions by any whispered gossiping, or irreverent criticisms of 
the sermon, Matilda rose also to depart, and found Sir Al- 
fred, with his companion, waiting for her near the church 
door. 

u You evaded us in coming here, Miss Howard,” said Mr. 
Grant, reproachfully. “ I could scarcely have overtaken 
such rapid movements at a gallop ; but there is no chance 
of escape now unless by taking actual flight in the fashion 
of yesterday.” 

“ No inducement shall make me do that again, Mr. Grant, 
because it is only an old friend with a new face that I would 
avoid,” replied Matilda, giving him one of her sweetest smiles. 
“We have all enjoyed the pleasure of hearing such im- 
portant truths to-day that it would be impossible to think 
on other subjects, and there could be no greater gratification 
to me than in discussing them as we go homewards.” 

“ It would be difficult, indeed, I may add almost sinful, 
to estrange our thoughts from what has been said. The im- 
pression should last forever,” replied Mr. Grant, beginning 
a conversation which continued, with increasing interest, 
until the party at length reached that long green lane where 
Matilda met with her adventure on the preceding day. Sir 
Alfred then paused in the middle of a sentence, and looked 
at Mr. Grant. u Miss Howard.” added he, u we visited a 
friend of yours this morning, who is very desirous to see 
you soon. I made a rash promise, perhaps overestimating 
my own influence, in venturing to engage that you would 
accompany Mr. Grant and myself to see her now.” 

u A friend of mine ? — It must have been a mistake for 
Eleanor !” 

11 1 rather believe not,” replied Sir Alfred, smiling to Mr. 
Grant. u We know of several, but the one in question was 
praising you with great eloquence to-day.” 

“ Ah ! then you need not add another word ! It must 
have been good, excellent Miss Murray, who has a kind 
opinion of every one.” 

“ Still wrong ! I should never have remembered the pa- 
negyric of such an indiscriminate admirer. 1 They who dare 
not censure scarce can praise.’ Our friend to-day was one 
who experiences little cause to think well of the world in 
general, but she said much of you, and more than you would 
wish any one to believe.” 


300 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


u Sir Alfred, you are infected with Eleanor’s genius foi 
passing a jest upon me, but I am become very cunning and 
suspicious, particularly as friends and admirers of mine are 
not very abundant anywhere.” 

u Not even in the village ?” asked Sir Alfred, archly. 
u Are you going to deny being on visiting terms at the house 
of that unfortunate old woman whose daughter disappeared 
so strangely ?” 

“ I guessed right, then, yesterday ! It was you who acted 
so generously towards poor Janet !” exclaimed Matilda, with 
a brilliant look of surprise and pleasure. 

“Your own experience testifies, Miss Howard, that there 
is no happiness on earth equal to that of promoting it in 
others, and therefore we cannot allow you to monopolize a 
privilege which all ought to share. Let us, then, accompany 
you now, and though this is the first time we have gone to 
such scenes together, I trust it will not be the last.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


301 


CHAPTER XXII. 


Nor those blest hours on idle trifles waste, 

Which all who lavish shall lament at last. 

Hymn. 

“ What untidy weather this is !” exclaimed Eleanor, next 
morning, after breakfast, while she flitted from window to 
window in the library, as if she hoped at some one of them 
to discover more sunshine than the rest displayed ; but each 
presented an unbroken winding-sheet of snow, which looked 
as if it might defy a summer’s heat, while an incessant fall 
of large downy flakes were to be seen, lounging lazily down, 
as if they meant to settle for weeks. Some of the largest 
were eagerly pointed out by Lord Alderby and Colonel 
Pendarvis, who traced their slow, dignified descent, and bet- 
ted largely on the relative rapidity of their fall, while Major 
Foley acted as umpire. 

u Are you trying to discover, my Lord, whether that red 
spot on the sky means to pass for the sun or the moon ?” 
asked Eleanor, looking wearily out ; u or perhaps watching 
to take a lesson how winter powders his wig, in case of ever 
growing old , and feeling obliged to wear one ?” 

“ I was thinking rather of becoming young again, than of 
getting old, Miss Fitz-Patrick, for we are trying a new pas- 
time. One of my favorite amusements in travelling, is some- 
thing on the same plan. We have generally a bet who shall 
see the greatest number of living animals upon his own side 
of the carriage. A donkey counts four , a turkey-cock two , a 
peacock five , and a cat looking in at a window is always 
game ! Pendarvis and I once amused ourselves the whole 
way to London with no other resource, when we were going 
up to attend our duties in Parliament !” 

A transient expression of contempt passed over Eleanor’s 
beautiful countenance, and with a look of unconquerable de- 
jection she dropt into a seat. The gentlemen instantly 
gathered round her in evident certainty of being entertained 
by her lively sallies and amusing caprices, but the young 
heiress felt for once incapable of exertion. To conceal the 


302 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


spiritless tone of her mind, she immediately opened a large 
box, containing innumerable alphabets printed on little 
squares of ivory, and spread them out on the table, desiring 
each individual to select the letters which formed any word, 
and having shaken them miscellaneously together, to ex- 
change them with some one else of the party, who must ex- 
hibit his talent by the quickness with which he discovered 
what was meant. Matilda watched Eleanor transposing and 
puzzling over the letters edisarp, which had been presented 
to her with such a sentimental sigh by Major Foley, that it 
would not have been difficult to guess from his countenance 
he intended to express Despair Sir Colin and Lord 
Alderby were in agonies of uncertainty over a handful of 
letters, which Miss Fitz-Patrick had laughingly reached 
them, while Sir Alfred continued perseveringly, though with 
a look of sly humor, to decline many importunate invitations 
to join in the amusement. 

“ Amusement ! that word must have a different meaning 
in the dictionary from what I had ever imagined.” 

41 Do try, Sir Alfred ! You are afraid of being thought 
stupid, but we shall be very indulgent at first. It would 
entertain you beyond measure ; and I do enjoy a little divert- 
ing nonsense occasionally.” 

k - 1 rather prefer diverting sense,” replied he, looking at 
Matilda for an instant, and then resuming his book. 

“ Here is a very easy word, and exactly characteristic of 
yourself! Now let us see a laudable curiosity to ascertain 
what that is !” 

“ Excuse me ; I have really no genius for spelling ; it is 
an accomplishment that never could be taught me. If you 
will believe it, Miss Fitz-Patrick, I always spell philosopher 
beginning with F, and capricious with a K.” 

“ That is the more surprising, since the last word is so 
appropriate to yourself ; but it would be unpardonable to 
lose this opportunity of improvement. I shall undertake to 
teach you unimpeachable spelling in six lessons.” 

u Indeed you have no conception how desperate the case 
is. I was always of opinion with Sir William Curtis, who 
hated the three P’s in education, Heading, Kiting , and 
itithmetic.” 

“ There are no symptoms of your antipathy to reading,” 
answered Eleanor, looking with an air of pique at Sir 
Alfred’s book. u I shall write a volume to-morrow, if you 
will promise to sit dozing and mooning over it all day, as 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


303 


you do often with that little volume, which seems to live in 
your pocket. I have the worst opinion of books bound in 
white parchment ; they are all as old and dry as a Hercu- 
laneum manuscript. I only wish they were equally inac- 
cessible.” 

“ Then, pray, Miss Fitz-Patrick, if you were condescend- 
ing enough to undertake the regulation of my studies, what 
would be prescribed ?” 

“ A very light diet at first, to clear your brain from the 
clouds of Greek and Latin, with which it is at present dark- 
ened. But d propos — that reminds me, Sir Alfred, what a 
very untoward pupil you were formerly. I recollect once, 
at Douglas Priory, making you positively promise to read 
Lady Ashton’s new novel, ‘ The Marchioness,’ and being 
actually so obliging as to find it for you in the library. 
Afterwards, whenever we called on Lady Amelia, I used to 
discover the first volume, with your mark still in it ; and 
though I several times slipped it a few pages backwards to 
tease and puzzle you, I question whether the trick was ever 
even suspected.” 

“ That accounts for its having appeared so insufferably 
tedious. The very recollection of that book puts me to 
sleep. It was the only novel in fashionable life that 1 ever 
travelled through ; and luckily for myself, I never knew 
originals for any one of the characters. It was full of false 
sentiment, bad morality, and ideas only fit for milliners’ 
apprentices.” 

“ You forget, Sir Alfred, that I recommended the work 
as an especial favorite ; but there is no improving your 
taste.” 

“ Very true ; it is an absolute waste of time to attempt it. 
\Tou may say, Miss Fitz-Patrick, as my old tutor used to do, 
that I must be allowed to ‘hang as I grow;’ but perhaps 
Miss Howard will exercise her spelling instead of me. It 
has been rumored that her education, like mine, was defi- 
cient on that score. As Dogberry says, ‘reading and 
writing come by nature.’ ” 

Matilda had been almost unconsciously standing beside 
Eleanor, with an air of graceful negligence, while she lis- 
tened to the preceding dialogue ; but as her cousin had 
constantly shunned for the last three days having any inter- 
course with her which could be decently avoided, she there- 
fore colored and looked confused at being thus unexpect- 
edly brought into prominent notice. 


304 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


u Are you there, Matilda V 1 said Eleanor in a tone of 
marked indifference ; and, without adding another syllable, 
she instantly busied herself with the alphabets, and pushed 
towards Lord de Mainbury a confused miscellany of letters 
which ought to constitute the word disinterested. His 
Lordship instantly assumed an attitude of deep attention : 
but though he sat for nearly an hour, bestowing upon the 
subject his undivided observation, and such intense study 
as might have solved a problem in mathematics, or revealed 
what is the square of a circle, he never was able to ascertain 
the oracular word with which Miss Fitz-Patrick had favored 
him. 

41 I wish some fairy, as bright as yourself, would give 
these a touch of her wand !” said he, looking completely be- 
wildered. “ But all their enchantments have been stolen 
away by one fair lady who shall be nameless.” 

Matilda thought she had never witnessed such an outlay 
of time bringing in so small a return of entertainment in 
proportion. She looked round to ascertain what resources 
might be adopted by others of the party. Lady Susan was 
rushing through the last new novel. The Miss Montagues 
were exhibiting their graceful figures in a game at battle- 
dore and shuttlecock in the entrance hall, where frequent 
exclamations of interest were made, evidently to attract 
notice. Miss Marabout was lounging in an attitude on the 
ottoman, near which she had drawn a large table, surrounded 
by a wreath of the newest annuals, while she tried, with all 
her might, to laugh at the one commonly called “ Comic !” 
Her seat commanded an excellent view of two splendid 
mirrors, into which she stole hasty glances whenever a smile 
had been called up, because it gave her an opportunity of 
studying expression, and of seeing her teeth, which were 
still tolerable. Miss Charlotte Clifford, with an air of great 
importance, placed herself at the pianoforte, and opened her 
small miniature music-book, decorated with a gold lock, in 
which were four “ treasures” of songs. The words seemed 
much as usual, and the air nothing particular, but still they 
were new — not another young lady in the world had a copy 
- — and they could not be had ! So terrified was she for their 
becoming common, that none of her friends might even be 
allowed to turn the leaves over when she sung, from an ap- 
prehension that the words might be stolen, and Mr. Grant 
now made her adopt a redoubled degree of watchfulness. 
He had contrived, with great quickness, when she was per- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


305 


forming the day before, to pick up a verse, from one which 
she particularly prized, and while Miss Clifford was arrang- 
ing a music-stool, he stood at the fire with his newspaper 
carelessly humming the words, and singing it in such an 
audible key as to attract her immediate notice. 

“ Where did you get ‘Tears and Smiles/ Mr. Grant? 5 ’ 
exclaimed Miss Charlotte, in a voice of alarm. 

“ I really forget ; it’s an old thing. Was it my groom 
who sung it ? or the dairymaid 1 — I can easily obtain a copy 
for you, however, or write something else quite as good. 
Y ou know, Miss Clifford, it is a proverb, when anything is 
totally worthless, that it might be sold for an old song.” 

Sir Richard strolled about the room, fretting and grum- 
bling at the weather, while he prophesied that this heavy 
snow-storm would stop the post for three weeks at least. 
After having exhausted every advertisement and paragraph 
in the Times and Morning Post , he turned to his daughter, 
saying, “ Eleanor, I once observed, in some of the unin- 
habited bedrooms, newspapers dangling in front of the 
grates, to keep off dust, but I beg you will have them all 
carefully collected for me now. In this remote corner it is 
necessary to husband our resources of information and 
amusement.” 

“ To the curious in newspapers ! Well, papa, your idea 
is ingenious, and there are several well-lined trunks up 
stairs, which shall be added to your store.” 

“ Life is a poor affair at best, but quite unbearable in the 
country without a billiard-table ! We must order one im- 
mediately, Eleanor. All the green meadows in Inverness- 
shire are not equal to a smooth field of green baize, fenced 
in with mahogany.” 

“ Ask Alderby to stoop in a horizontal position — his 
green coat is an acre in breadth, and with the pockets would 
do admirably,” whispered Mr. Grant to Eleanor. “We 
can easily provide cues, and make Sir Richard happy at 
once, for his Lordship would do anything to oblige you,” 

“ My windows rattled all last night like an old post 
chaise!” pursued the Baronet, fretfully, “and to-day, I 
would literally have to be dug out of the snow, if we ven- 
tured near the stable. The ministry may be changeJ and 
restored again before our post arrives, and Parliament dis- 
solve sooner than the snow. Gentlemen, would any of you 
like to have the shutters closed, and a bowl of punch ! I 
wish, Fletcher, that Harlequin’s wand could transform your 


806 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


inkstand into one — the sealing-wax might be metamorphosed 
into cigars also, and day into night.” 

Matilda, seeing Sir Colin clear his throat for a long story, 
determined on stealing off to the solitary enjoyment of her 
own numerous occupations, and was amused as she left the 
room, to hear Lady Montague ask her daughters, in a tone 
of importance, whether they had any message for a nume- 
rous constellation of peeresses, whom she announced her in- 
tention of writing to that day, while they returned the usual 
unsatisfactory answer on such appeals being made, “ nothing 
but our kind remembrances.” It often astonished Miss 
Howard to observe a rational being, whose whole thoughts 
and actions were concentrated on one object so entirely as 
those of Lady Montague. In her intercourse with her own 
family, or with strangers, even with shopkeepers and ser- 
vants, the desire never was absent, for a single instant, to 
'• keep up her own consequence !” To this every domestic 
pleasure, every exercise of her affections, and every amuse- 
ment was made subservient. “ If I could but acquire the 
same singleness of purpose in seeking for higher attainment 
in holiness !” thought Matilda, with a feeling of self-reproach, 
as she drew in a chair at her own fireside, and thought over 
the whole scene she had quitted with sentiments of surprise 
at that listless ennui which most of the party had exhibited. 
“ How truly Dr. Murray observed, that nothing desirable 
can be obtained without vigorous exertion, for I perceive 
than even those who seek merely for amusement must fail, 
if they pursue it indolently. The effort is the actual pleas- 
ure on all occasions. If a sportsman could be supplied with 
as many brace of birds on the 12th of August as he chose to 
name, where would be his enjoyment? If an author saw 
his books ready made to his wish, what satisfaction would 
they give him ? I can imagine myself placed suddenly in 
possession of every earthly blessing that could be named, 
and if they be granted without limit and without difficulty, 
they could confer no happiness. Let the keenest collector 
of pictures be told that he shall receive them in cart-loads 
whenever he desires it — let the greatest miser be told that 
any number of thousands he chooses to name shall be found 
ready at his bank, — or even those who follow the nobler 
pursuit of fame, let it be supposed that every eye is fastened 
on them when they pass, and every ear listens entranced 
when they speak, still the certainty and the abundance of 
all these gifts would render them disgusting. We must 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


30 ' 


have suspense, uncertainty, and difficulty, as a zest to sue 
cess ; and, like Alexander the Great, who gave away every 
worldly possession for the pleasure of exertion and the pro* 
mises of hope, I think the Christian must feel that not only 
is hope the best part of every temporal object, but the worth- 
lessness of all present possessions without it is a strong em- 
blem how little we should gain if the whole world were our 
own, without that hope which reaches beyond it, and can 
never be fully realized here. There is an aching void in 
every heart until the love of God be implanted within, and 
then every affection and desire has an ample field for 
exercise.” 

Matilda resolutely detached her thoughts from any sub- 
ject of immediate interest which would have naturally en- 
grossed them ; she felt how true it is, that u en songeant 
qu 1 on doit oublier, on s’en souvient and being accustomed to 
exercise a despotic government over her own mind, she 
opened some of her favorite books, the gifts of Lady Olivia, 
and became so completely absorbed in the study, that it 
caused a start of surprise when the gong sounded some 
hours afterwards for luncheon. When Matilda hastened 
into the drawing-room, Miss Clifford had reached her final 
cadence, Miss Marabout performed her parting smile over 
the Comic Annual, the Miss Montagues replaced the little 
ornamental purses which "they were working into small 
mother-of-pearl work-boxes, and the whole party seemed 
reviving with the prospect of at last finding something to 
do. Sir Alfred stood at the window, discussing with Sir 
Richard and Mr. Grant some arrangements for his election 
on the following day, when Eleanor, who thought herself 
privileged to interrupt any conference, joined the trio, and 
exclaimed, looking out at the snow, which was now falling 
in almost a solid mass, and undulating in graceful wreaths 
along the park — “ What a delightful day this is, Sir 
Alfred !” 

“ Charming indeed ! — suppose we try a walk !” 

“ Agreed. — I have the greatest mind to take you at youi 
word.” 

“ I shall certainly venture as far as the stables soon ; so 
if you choose to come I can’t help it.” 

u How very pressing ! It is impossible to resist such im- 
portunity, therefore my Esquimaux boots and ermine pelisse 
shall be in requisition after luncheon.” 

“ Before, if you please. My horse always expects mo 


308 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


precisely at three, and I would not disappoint Vesuvius on 
any consideration.” 

“ But luncheon has been already announced, and this h 
the only time of day when I ever feel hungry,” replied 
Eleanor, who, according to the etiquette of young ladies, 
professed always a ravenous appetite in the forenoon, and 
an utter incapacity of eating at all other meals. “ I should 
die of exhaustion in an hour without taking something to 
support nature.” 

“ Then our engagement is broken off,” replied Sir Alfred, 
escaping towards the door ; “I am not a good waiter .” 

“ But, stop a moment. You ought to remain, for papa 
has ordered his favorite dish this morning — a pie of singed 
sheep’s head !” 

“ Can you suppose, Miss Fitz-Patrick, that I would re- 
main in the house with such a thing !” replied he, affecting 
a look of disgust, and accomplishing his retreat. Sir Al- 
fred was soon after seen proceeding from the stables, where 
he scarcely stopped a moment, and walking rapidly over a 
neighboring eminence, clothed in a large Mackintosh cloak, 
boots in which he might have waded dry-shod through the 
Spey, and his hat already covered with a canopy of snow. 

“Now, where can he be going?” cried Eleanor. “Sir 
Alfred must have mistaken his way, for that road leads 
only to Growanbank, and one or two wretched little cottages. 
I shall certainly have my jest upon his visiting acquaint- 
ances at Middenditcli, and his leaving a card for Mrs. 
Muckleraith.” 

“Well, Miss Howard,” said Mr. Armstrong, approaching 
Matilda with an appearance of easy and rather patronizing 
familiarity, “it would be bad policy to lose your ship for a 
pennyworth of tar. Have you thought better of what I 
dropped lately?” 

“ Not more than could be helped,” replied she, dryly. “ I 
neither wish to consider nor to discuss a subject that is 
without remedy.” 

“ But there is a remedy in my power, if you make it worth 
while to produce certain documents which might be forth- 
coming.” 

“ Mr. Armstrong ! if it is not worth while to act honorably 
for conscience’ sake, you shall have no inferior inducement 
from me. A man who could suppress papers which ought 
to have been produced, might also be capable of counterfeit- 
ing them.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


309 


“ Y ou’ll repent of this, Miss Howard. I only wish that 
it were possible to be revenged on Miss Fitz-Patrick with- 
out serving you,” said he angrily, leaving the room, where 
he had been entirely unnoticed all the morning either by 
Eleanor or any of her visitors. 

The day of Sir Alfred’s election was at length ushered 
in by such a continued snow-storm, that the gentlemen had 
some difficulty in reaching the scene of action, and Eleanoi 
was unwillingly obliged to relinquish her hopes of seeing thr.* 
member chaired. As a dinner Avas to be given at the neigh- 
boring town, from whence Sir Richard and his party were 
not expected home till late in the evening, the ladies dined 
early, and dispersed to their rooms, having agreed, by way 
of variety, to have good appetites, and to take a severe tea at 
ten o’clock, when their friends from the hustings promised to 
attend also. 

On Matilda’s coming down at the appointed hour, she was 
surprised to find a brilliantly illuminated room, decorated 
with a profusion of blue ribbons and flowers, while all the 
ladies were ornamented with the same color. Some of them 
wore scarfs, and others had large conspicuous bows mingled 
with their hair, while each carried an artificial bouquet of 
blue convolvulus and forget-me-not. Eleanor was radiant 
with animation, pouring out the tea, and singing with great 
vivacity, 

“ He promised to buy me a bunch of blue ribbons, 

To tie up my bonnie brown hair.” 

“Ah, Matilda!” said she, carelessly, “ did not I tell you 
our intention of doing honor to Sir Alfred by wearing his 
colors ! But the omission scarcely signifies, because you 
are sure a.t any rate to be in blue stockings .” 

“ No, Eleanor,” replied Matilda, “ I only wear that color 
in my eyes, which you do not.” 

“ I see what you mean,” cried the heiress, laughing. “ Mr. 
Grant was talking a great deal of his nonsense to Sir Alfred 
this morning about his choosing blue in compliment to some 
fair lady, and, of course, you have since been comparing 1 les 
yeux bleus et noirs ,” to the no small disadvantage of the 
latter.” 

Nothing could be more rapturous than the congratulations 
with which Sir Alfred and his friends were soon after re- 
ceived, when they entered the room, announcing complete 
success. The carriage and four had driven up to the gate 


310 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


covered with favors and surrounded by outriders, most oi 
whom were constituents from the neighborhood, who accom- 
panied him to testify their respect, and who now dispersed. 
Mr. Grant instantly proceeded to give a picturesque and 
amusing description of the whole scene, commemorating all 
the jests cracked, and the glasses broken, with infinite humor, 
while he took off most effectively the oratory of several 
spokesmen who had that day professed themselves, with every 
appearance of veracity, 44 unaccustomed to public speaking.” 
Matilda forgot her own indignation at Eleanor’s malicious 
remarks and omissions, in the amusement with which she 
now listened to Mr. Grant’s lively sallies, who gave a divert- 
ing account of a deputation which he had headed to the op- 
posite party, on which embassy Colonel Pendarvis mentioned 
that he had been forcibly detained to enliven a very dull 
circle. Oil his return to do duty for Siv Alfred, Sir Richard 
laughingly related that an unaccountable ommission having 
been made in the list of toasts, where 44 The Croupier” was 
entirely omitted, Mr. Grant got up, and after a long and ap- 
propriate panegyric, proposed his own heodth , which had been 
immediately drunk with enthusiasm. 

It was universally whispered that Sir Alfred made an ap- 
pearance brilliant beyond example, but no one felt at liberty 
to venture the remark within his own hearing, because every 
individual present knew his unaffected desire to shun obser- 
vation, and that, pre-eminent as his talents were when occa- 
sion offered for their exercise, yet he chose to wear them 
almost constantly under a domino in general society. Sir 
Alfred, however, entered into the humor of this evening 
with more liveliness than he had ever before displayed ; and 
his dry, sarcastic remarks, and ready wit, formed an enliven- 
ing accompaniment to the diverting nonsense of Mr. Grant, 
and the playful vivacity of Eleanor, who seemed inspired 
with an extraordinary degree of amusing repartee for the 
occasion. 

Though the eyes of Sir Alfred were lighted up with ani- 
mation, yet Matilda could not but be conscious that they 
softeued into a look of interest whenever he addressed her- 
self, and though his voice had now assumed a new tone of 
vivacity, it became subdued into an expression of sensibility 
when he spoke to her. The sensitive feelings of Matilda 
told her of an obvious change, and that, for the first time, 
Sir Alfred adopted the same manner before others which he 
had so long done when they were alone. He no longer 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


311 


seemed desirous to conceal the preference which had former- 
ly been but hinted. His first eager look when he entered the 
drawing-room searched for Matilda, it was to her that he at 
once advanced with frankness and animation to claim her 
congratulations, and to her he now invariably turned with a 
desire to ascertain how she felt interested by all that passed, 
while he looked with evident admiration at the sparkling 
smile and dazzling color which a secret consciousness of his 
own attention called into her countenance. 

Eleanor at length proposed music, and played, by way of 
commencement, the “ Blue Bells of Scotland,” while Matilda 
proceeded, as had been her usual custom lately, to the library 
with Sir llichard, where, with the door open to catch a dis- 
tant sound of the piano, he liked her to read the Times and 
Standard , as she had long ago insisted on supplying the 
place of his spectacles occasionally, and he now preferred 
hearing her always to the use of his own not very available 
eyes. On this occasion, however, his niece had scarcely 
been seated, and begun a few preliminary remarks of her 
own, when Sir Richard looked restlessly round, and then 
started up, saying, with a good-humored laugh and an air of 
exquisite enjoyment, 

'• Many thanks, my dear girl, for your obliging intentions, 
but we must be better employed to-night. I have promised 
to relinquish my seat this evening, and not to hear one word, 
because a friend of mine is impatient to obtain an audience 
himself.” 

Matilda scarcely looked round before Sir Richard had van- 
ished, and Sir Alfred Douglas stood in his place. There 
was agitation and embarrassment in his manner, but yet the 
expression paramount in his countenance seemed to be 
pleasure, which might be traced in his heightened color and 
animated smile, when he seated himself beside Matilda, 
whose cheek became pale and red alternately with surprise 
and agitation. 

- You have not honored me by wearing the true blue, 
Miss Howard !— It is most appropriate to my own feelings 
at this moment, being the color of hope, and also of the un- 
certain sky,” said Sir Alfred, looking earnestly at Matilda. 

Must I consider you as an enemy?” 

- Oh impossible ! — that is to say, at least, — I — I was not 

aware — no one told me it was customary, — or — or ex 
pected ” 

n Miss Howard, I never read any novel yet which could 


312 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


have held together for a single volume, if the parties had 
only stated their grievances with ordinary candor, or if 
some trumpery secret had not been kept, which ought to 
have been told ; allow me, therefore, to mention, that Miss 
Fitz-Patrick herself suggested the idea of sporting the blue 
cockade or I should never have presumed to ask it, and she 
even permitted me the honor of ordering from one of my 
principal constituents in the borough, his whole assortment 
of scarfs and ribbons, which she assured me should be worn 
by all who were friendly to my cause. The natural infer- 
ence, therefore, on this occasion might have been very un- 
favorable to my hopes ; but yet, Miss Howard, I did not 
allow myself to be discouraged. Was I wrong? Would 
you have refused to wear my colors had you known that the 
greatest pleasure I looked for on returning has been to see 
you in them?” 

Matilda hastily drew off her glove, and, with a modest 
smile, pointed to the torquoise-ring which she usually wore. 

“ That emblem, is, indeed, sufficient,” said Sir Alfred, 
suddenly seizing the beautiful hand which she had uncov- 
ered, and carrying it to his lips. “ One small token of good- 
will from Matilda Howard would be more dear to me than 
that of all the world besides. Do not withdraw this pre- 
cious hand till you have promised to bestow it upon me for- 
ever.” 

Matilda started in astonishment, and gently drew back, 
with involuntary confusion, at a declaration so instanta- 
neous, but no reply was necessary, for Sir Alfred continued 
to speak with agitation and rapidity. “No heart can con- 
ceive, Miss Howard, with what impatience this moment has 
been longed for, when I might at last divulge my whole 
feelings, and ask if they are returned. Sir Francis knew 
my secret long since, but I had been surprised into a prom- 
ise that for one year these hopes should be hid from your- 
self. My fortune was ample, but the wealth of Croesus can 
scarcely satisfy a parent’s ambition. Mine saw only one ex- 
ternal difference between you and your cousin — she ima- 
gined it possible I might change ! She did not know that 
there is nothing transient or capricious in my attachment, 
which principle and inclination have rooted with a depth 
and firmness never to be altered. Aware that this election 
must bring me into your cousin’s society here, my mother 
made it her last request that the contest should be finished 
before my heart became known to you. Could I refuse ? 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


313 


She meant it in kindness, yet who could conceive the dif- 
ficulty it entailed on me ! I did not even foresee it myself ! 
The apprehension never entered my thoughts, that we might 
be in the same house, — that I should see you continually, 
an object of admiration to others, — that I should be obliged 
to veil my own heart, and pursue an equivocal line of con- 
duct, and that, with the perpetual fear of being misinter- 
preted, I should still be obliged to keep silence. But such 
silence as mine could scarcely be mistaken for insensibility,” 
added Sir Alfred, with a conscious smile. “ I can scarcely 
claim the merit of having preserved it, — you must have 
understood me. You must have seen that from the very 
first day we met, my honor was pledged, — that time had 
not effaced the impression you once made on my heart, and 
that absence could not diminish it. Let me hope, since I 
was not then repulsed, you will listen to me favorably now. 
I do not ask you to speak. I see you cannot ; but my de- 
sire is to be allowed an opportunity, — an early opportunity 
to plead my own cause, — to explain myself more fully, — to 
tell you that my utmost endeavor in life would be to merit 
your affection.” 

Sir Alfred paused a single moment, and then added, in a 
voice of persuasive eloquence — “ Yet, Matilda, if you could 
but grant one word or look, to assure me that I have not 
loved in vain, — that every cherished hope of my heart shall 
be realized, — that you consent to double all the joys of my 
future life, and to share in all its sorrows, let the suspense 
of months be terminated now, — let hope be changed into 
certainty, and promise that you will at least endeavor to 
love me, — that you will one day consent to become mine 
forever.” 

Matilda looked up for a moment, and words could not 
express more tenderness and ingenuous modesty than did 
her young ana 1 lovely countenance. With all her natural 
frankness she placed her hand in Sir Alfred’s, and covered 
her eyes, overpowered with agitation, while she hung her 
averted head, and tears coursed each other down her cheeks, 
Sir Alfred clasped Matilda’s hand in his own, and there 
was deep and solemn emotion mingled with the tenderness 
of his manner, for language would have been feeble com- 
pared with the eloquence of silence. He kept the hand 
which had now become his own, while a pause of some 
moments ensued ; and he had the delicacy and considera- 
tion not even to look at Matilda, while both knew that their 

14 


314 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


feelings were mutually understood. A union of confidence 
and affection was now established between them, more than 
that of friendship or love, which time could never dis- 
solve, and which death itself might suspend, but not finally 
terminate. 

“ What are you two about here?” exclaimed Eleanor, 
hastening unexpectedly into the library, while Matilda, at 
the same moment, darted off in an opposite direction. 

“ Sir Alfred, I am come to secure your first frank as a 
trophy, which my correspondent shall return immediately, 
that it may be framed and hung up in the library, or form 
the commencement to a splendid collection of autographs.” 

“ You shall have all the other nine, Miss Fitz-Patrick, 
but my first frank is previously engaged to go on an em- 
bassy of great importance,” replied Sir Alfred, rising, while 
he endeavored to conceal, by a rallying tone, his own ex- 
treme emotion. “ Having claimed the kind congratulations 
of our friends this evening already, I cannot deny myself 
the pleasure of saying, Miss Fitz-Patrick, that, before long, 
it is my fervent hope and expectation to receive as many 
good wishes on an occasion of still greater importance, in 
which the happiness of my life has long been involved.” 

Eleanor gazed at Sir Alfred with surprise, and observing 
how much he seemed agitated, she colored and looked down 
with an air of expectation, not entirely devoid of embarrass- 
ment. 

You must have been long since aware of my ardent 
attachment,” continued Sir Alfred, hurriedly. “ It has been 
obvious to others less interested. Sir Richard mentioned 
the subject to me this morning, when I was happy enough 
to obtain his concurrence.” 

“ Rather premature,” said Eleanor, blushing. 

“ My friend Grant also discovered my sentiments long 
since, and therefore I cannot but wonder that they should 
have entirely escaped your notice, because it appeared as if 
every moment must have betrayed me to such penetration 
as Miss Fitz-Patrick’s. All necessity for concealment, how- 
ever, is now at an end, and it is with pride and pleasure I 
announce that your cousin has this moment pledged her 
affections to me. Need I say that not a wish of my heart 
remains ungratified ?” 

For an instant Eleanor turned pale as death. Her lips 
became compressed, her eyes fixed and dilated, her whole 
countenance seemed to undergo a momentary convulsion. 


Oil THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


315 


She passed her hand over her face, and remained silent. 
At length pride restored her presence of mind, and making 
a strong effort of self-command, she turned to Sir Alfred 
with her usual company-smile, saying in a slow-measured 
voice, “ I wish you both all the happiness that this world 
can give to any one, but that, I fear, is not much.” 

“ We expect more — far more,” replied he, with an expres- 
sion in which joy seemed to be chastened for the moment 
by serious reflection ; “ who would not pity any man for 
gaining the whole world, if he could be satisfied with that ! 
No, Miss Fitz-Patrick, let us hope that you and I. and my 
own Matilda, have a better portion in view than any earthly 
blessing can supply.” 

Eleanor looked at Sir Alfred with surprise. She had some- 
times before seen reason to suspect his religious principles to 
be deep and influential, but her conjectures were carelessly 
considered, until now when fully confirmed. After Eleanor 
that evening found shelter in the solitude of her own dress- 
ing-room, a pang shot through her mind as she recalled 
these words of Sir Alfred, and compared what she had once 
been herself in principle and feeling, contrasted with what 
she was now. 

The early impressions of childhood, so long extinguished, 
were for an instant revived while, breathing a deep sigh 
of humiliation and regret, she retraced the past. Many a 
thought which had slumbered unheeded in Eleanor’s mind 
for years, now forced itself into remembrance, and wrung 
her heart in solitary anguish. Religion actually appeared 
in a new light, when she saw it viewed and acknowledged as 
the first object in existence by a person of such distinguished 
consideration as Sir Alfred, for it is singular what powerful 
effect is produced by personally meeting any one highly 
gifted, and yet under the influence of Divine truth. Eleanor 
always knew, like every one else, that the greatest as well as 
the best of men had been Christians — that Milton, the first 
of poets, Newton, the chief of philosophers, Addison, the 
most elegant of moral writers, Johnson, the profoundcst 
of scholars, Bacon, the most learned of statesmen, and a 
thousand other illustrious names, derived their greatest emi- 
nence and their only happiness from the profession of a deep 
and holy veneration for Christianity ; but it was new to her 
when she beheld one who possessed everything in life to 
render it attractive, and whom she had been accustomed to 
see the object of universal admiration and respect, consider 


310 


MODERN SO Cl E'l Y, 


ing the whole as an idle dream, except inasmuch as he was 
preparing to leave those fleeting objects, and to awake in 
eternity. 

Miss Fitz-Patrick hastily tore out the camellias from 
amidst her clustering curls, and sat for hours before a dress- 
ing-table, with her fingers passed through her hair, and her 
eyes and throbbing forehead pressed upon her hands, while 
her mind strayed in a wild wilderness of tumultuous emo- 
tions ; but still, as she tried to collect her scattered faculties, 
the young heiress could not but recollect with what incredu- 
lity she once listened to the heartfelt opinion of Lady Olivia, 
that, even in this life people are happy, whatever their cir- 
cumstances may be, exactly in proportion as their thoughts 
are devoted to God. Those affectionate admonitions of her 
first and kindest friend had long been overlooked ; and while 
she thought with bitter regret of them, she also remembered 
her subsequent treatment of Matilda with keen self-reproach. 
Memory seemed to have become an enemy which would do 
nothing but upbraid her, while for a moment she became 
conscious that had such ingratitude and unkindness been 
foretold in former years, her exclamation would have been 
like that of Hazael, “ Is thy servant a dog V 1 Her thoughts 
reached back into the long vista of past days, when nature, 
feeling, and principle all combined with the exercise of na- 
tural affection to render her happy and to lead her on in a 
course of devotion and peace. Eleanor’s heart was smitten 
by the contrast, and a crushing sense of misery weighed 
down her spirit. The rich gifts of fortune appeared now in 
their native insignificance compared with those of nature ; 
for friendship, affection, peace, contentment, and cheerful- 
ness seemed all to have been sacrificed in a mere delirium 
of vanity, w T hile she felt what a mirage of the desert had 
misled her. “ Oh ! that it were with me as in the days that 
are past !” thought she bitterly ; “ but more easily might I 
gather the scattered leaves of this fallen flower, and restore 
them to life and beauty, than hope to become the same sim- 
ple, unsophisticated girl I once was. Nature intended me 
for better things, and providence blessed me with peculiar 
advantages, but all is madly thrown away, and I will not — 
for I dare not — reflect or attempt to retrace my steps.” 


OH THE MARCH OP INTELLECT. 


3 h 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


“ Hearts are not flint, vet flint is rent, 
Hearts are not steel, yet steel is bent.” 


Next morning, before breakfast, Matilda entered Elea 
nor’s room, and, with all her usual tact and delicacy, an- 
nounced her own happy prospects, as if they had indeed 
been like sisters, and that it formed a subject of mutual in- 
terest and confidence between them. Not a trace seemed to 
remain in her memory that her cousin had mistaken the 
nature of Sir Alfred’s intentions, nor did she seem to enter- 
tain a suspicion that anything could arise but sympathy and 
good wishes from the friend of her childhood. Miss Fitz- 
Patrick was melted and overcome by her cousin’s considerate 
kindness ; but pride still prevailed, and rather than show 
any emotion liable to be mistaken for regret or disappoint- 
ment, she answered, during the few moments that Matilda 
remained, with coldness and constraint, which rendered it 
a mutual relief when the interview was terminated. 

Miss Howard started with surprise to discover, during 
breakfast, how universally Sir Alfred had announced the 
news of their engagement, for the usual reserve of his char- 
acter had apparently vanished, while Sir Richard was evi- 
dently rehearsing all the sly allusions, hints, and inuendoes 
which abound on such occasions. It seemed on this day as 
if the whole party had changed characters. Eleanor was 
pensive and silent, her spirits were evidently forced, and a 
slight nervous quiver of the lip gave evidence of internal 
agitation. Mr. Grant seemed also grave, and glanced occa- 
sionally at Eleanor’s countenance with an expression almost 
amounting to pity, so fully had he been impressed with the 
idea that Miss Fitz-Patrick was secretly attached to his 
friend. There appeared a degree of empresse?nent in his at- 
tentions now, beyond what he ever testified formerly, but yet 
Eleanor became thoroughly conscious, that these cares were 
for her sake entirely, not for his own — that the cloud which 
agitated his spirits was one in which she had no share, and 


318 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


that, while anxiously desirous to promote her happiness, his 
feelings were no longer dependent on her caprice. It seemed 
to Eleanor as if everything in life had been transformed 
around her, and when, after breakfast, Sir Alfred led Ma- 
tilda into the library, she hastily retreated to her own room, 
and in solitary retirement gave vent to every bitter emotion 
which was at war within her breast, where not a single 
source of comfort presented itself, to which she might turn 
for relief, in brooding over past events and present circum- 
stances. It would have beeu difficult for any one, and im- 
possible for Eleanor, to analyze her complicated sensations ; 
but there arose an intense and prevailing sense of wretched- 
ness in her mind, while silently weeping such tears as are 
seldom shed but once. For a moment she acknowledged, that 
Matilda merited happiness, while she was herself unfit to be 
the chosen companion of one so singularly gifted as Sir Al- 
fred, and Eleanor felt humbled by the contrast of her own 
mind and heart with her cousin’s. Yet, while conviction 
struggled for the mastery over envy and mortified pride, 
there rankled a feeling deeper than all, which pierced to the 
inmost recesses of her spirit, when the belief became inevit- 
able that Mr. Grant also had learned to view her with indif- 
ference. It always hitherto appeared certain to her ima- 
gination, that at some time or other there would be a necessity 
for choosing between Sir Alfred and her former lover, whom 
she fancied that no circumstances could alienate. Though 
grander features of character in the one had dazzled and al- 
most captivated Eleanor for a time, yet in all the suppo- 
sitious scenes with which she frequently beguiled an idle 
hour, it invariably happened^ that the preference was given 
to Mr. Grant. She generally caused him to suffer agonies 
of imaginary suspense, and made the concession of accept- 
ing him an obligation which could never be sufficiently ap- 
preciated : but still an interview had been so frequently 
rehearsed, and arranged on her own pattern, that it seemed 
incredible to think it might not perhaps take place in actual 
reality. If anything more trying than another could have 
been added to present mortification, it was the conscious- 
ness of Matilda being preferred ; and in remembering her 
own ungenerous conduct to her cousin, she thought of it all 
with shame and contrition, while the very possibility of 
making any acknowledgment or reparation seemed now out of 
the question. 

Eleanor’s mind was thus tortured by vain regrets and 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 019 

temporary remorse, when these painful ruminations were in- 
terrupted by the announcement that Dr. Murray had called, 
requesting to see her immediately, and alone. Anything 
seemed to promise relief from the wretched state of her 
present thoughts, and she desired that he should be ushered 
into her own boudoir, where they had occasionally met al- 
ready on parish business. 

There appeared an unwonted expression of melancholy 
gravity in the eye of Dr. Murray as he entered Eleanor’s 
presence, and his step was lingering and slow, as if unwill- 
ing to hasten the time when he must speak. Having ob- 
served, after a friendly greeting on both sides, that Miss Fitz- 
Patrick seemed unusually languid and pale, he took her by 
the hand with a look of benevolent interest, saying he feared 
she had suffered materially from her recent perilous adven- 
ture on the ice. 

;; Oh dear, no ! It was scarcely worth mentioning. 1 
might be in danger for a few minutes, but with so many 
friends near, and such prompt assistance, there could be little 
cause for serious apprehension.” 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick P replied he, still preserving a look 
of unwonted seriousness, “ the issues of life and of death 
are in the hands of Him by whose providential care you 
were then preserved. Had that alarming accident been 
foreseen, without its merciful conclusion also becoming 
known, think how fervent would have been your prayers 
for that safety which now seems a matter of course. It is 
seldom that our thankfulness, after any interposition of this 
kind, bears a due proportion to the anxiety which we pre- 
viously felt ; but as the servant of Him to whom you owe 
every hour of existence, and the many blessings which ren- 
der it precious, I should claim and expect to see the most 
heartfelt gratitude. There is much to make life enticing to 
you, Miss Fitz-Patrick, but there is yet more to make death 
alarming, when we consider how readily you acknowledge 
that the rich bounties of Providence have only served to 
estrange you from the Giver. I could have wished, I had 
almost believed that, when snatched, as it were, from the 
borders of the grave, you might have considered seriously 
that important purpose for which a new lease of life had 
been granted. Of that, however, let us speak hereafter ; 
but the business on which I come this morning calls for ur 
gent haste. You are aware, Miss Fitz-Patrick, that the 


320 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


unfortunate young girl who was a short time in your service 
is now no more ” 

“Dead?” interrupted she, turning pale, and sinking into 
a seat. “ Surely, Dr. Murray, you cannot mean to say she 
is actually dead ?” 

The venerable clergyman mournfully shook his head, 
while Eleanor sat for a moment transfixed with amazement, 
and then, burying her face on the arm of the sofa, she re- 
mained silent- during several minutes. 

“ She is supposed to have drowned herself some days 
ago,” added Dr. Murray, in a subdued voice, and with evi- 
dent emotion. “We may trust that the poor girl was not 
a responsible being at that time, for there is unquestionable 
evidence of her mind having been in a state of frightful de- 
lirium, brought on by distress. It is deeply to be deplored 
that more caution was not used before her being abandoned 
to such extreme suffering ; and, on the part of Nanny’s aged 
mother, who seems now at the point of death, I come to you, 
Miss Fitz-Patrick, this morning. The only remaining wish 
of old Janet’s heart is, that her daughter’s character may be 
cleared before she expires. The poor woman clings to her 
belief of Nanny’s innocence, but she wishes to die in the 
knowledge of it. Her last request then is, that you will 
now investigate those accusations against her child, in the 
hope that I may return, before her eyes are closed forever, 
with the consoling assurance that all is done that can be 
done to clear the memory of her departed daughter from 
infamy.” 

“ Dr. Murray,” said Eleanor, rising, and speaking with 
great effort, “ it appears to me this morning, as if, in the 
language of David, I might say, ‘ My sins have found me 
out !’ Never till this moment did I duly reflect upon my 
conduct to that girl — but now — I see it as you see it. I 
dare not take time to consider that, nor any one of the 
thousand things which are crowding into my mind. To 
you, Dr. Murray, who would not speak with confidence ? I 
shall do so hereafter, when you will be benevolently inter- 
ested for one who little deserves it from you, or from any 
person. Of all the tortures it would be possible to endure, 
I believe the greatest might be to read over my past life as 
it was, and to be told by my own heart and conscience what 
it ought to have been — to see the unnecessary^ perplexities I 
have plunged into — the friends I have alienated — the un- 
known miseries I have occasioned — and the opportunities of 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


32: 


doing good that I have missed. Oh ! Dr. Murray. I cannot 
but think, when in a future world all this is revealed to ua 
at once, how the very best will stand speechless and amazed. 
Through infinite mercy it is never too late for repentance 
here, and certainly it can never be too soon. I shall at least 
show one proof of readiness to make any reparation in my 
power to the unfortunate mother. Poor Nanny ! she is be- 
yond the reach of all that compunction and sorrow can sug- 
gest ; but I shall accompany you to Gowanbank myself. 
Meanwhile this is no time to speak, for I must act. Let us 
consult my father what immediate steps shall be taken.” 

Eleanor instantly rung the bell, and sent a message for 
Sir Richard ; but on being informed that he had gone out, 
she requested to see Mr. Grant, whom, as a justice of the 
peace, she at once resolved to consult. No sooner did he 
obey her summons, than with perfect candor, and no ex- 
tenuation, she hastily recapitulated every circumstance re- 
lating to Nanny, taking upon herself the whole blame, and 
ending by an earnest entreaty to both gentlemen, that what- 
ever plan occurred for immediate investigation, might be 
instantly put in action. A hectic spot burnt on Eleanor’s 
cheek, while the rest of her countenance remained pale as 
marble — there was the hurry and rapidity of nervous excite- 
ment in her manner, — her lips were strongly compressed to 
conceal emotion, and her eye spoke a language of grief and 
anxiety so unknown there before, that Mr. Grant felt sur- 
prised and affected to observe such a sudden change. 

Dr. Murray first suggested that Mrs. Gordon might be 
desired to assemble the servants, which was done without 
delay in the library, where they had on a former occasion 
been summoned to family prayers, and therefore all attended 
without hesitation or uneasiness. Eleanor then bastefaed 
into the drawing-room, and passing by Miss Marabout in 
silence, she advanced to her cousin, who was standing at a 
window with Sir Alfred, and, unable to speak, she took Miss 
Howard by the hand and made a sign for her to follow. 
Matilda asked no questions ; she did not even express by a 
look the astonishment which it was impossible not to feel at 
observing Eleanor’s agitated manner, but assuming an ex- 
ternal appearance of composure, she took her cousin affec- 
tionately by the arm, and accompanied her in silence to the 
library, where they sat down together in an obscure corner, 
while she looked round with wonder and apprehension to 
ascertain the cause of Eleanor’s distress. 

14 * 


322 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


Dr. Murray then approached to where the servants wera 
placed, and passing his mild benevolent eye along the line 
in which they stood, he fixed it with penetrating earnest- 
ness on Pauline, and a solemn pause ensued. It now be- 
came evident to all, that they were assembled on no ordinary 
occasion, while the increasing agitation of Eleanor, and a 
look of grave and anxious interest on the countenance of 
Mr. Grant, confirmed their conjectures, and caused a gene- 
ral impression of awe.” 

I am come, my friends,” said Dr. Murray, u with a mes- 
sage to you all from the chamber of death. A fellow-crea- 
ture, now laid in the last agonies of expiring nature, whom 
each of us has known, asks for one last gleam of earthly 
comfort from you. Age and infirmity, sickness and grief, 
are doing their worst upon her, and yet I would rather at 
this moment take her place than be the person who could 
willingly cause such affliction, and who would withhold con- 
solation. All the sorrows of life, and all the sufferings of 
death, are as nothing compared with remorse ; and if repent- 
ance be delayed for a few hours it may come too late. That 
young and blooming girl who so lately stood amongst you is 
now no more. In desperation and sorrow she has hurried 
to that awful tribunal where we shall speedily meet ; and I 
would ask, whether in that hour, when the secrets of all 
hearts shall be laid open, none of you will see cause to 
lament having occasioned the wretchedness which has ended 
thus fatally. If it be so, you must either repent of it in 
this world, or repent throughout a hopeless eternity. Nanny 
is beyond the reach either of malice or kindness — our very 
prayers can no longer avail her — and the place that once 
knew her shall know her no more. Yet the broken-hearted 
mother seeks for peace, and would find it, were she only 
assured that her child never became the guilty criminal 
which has been said — that she did not forget the principles 
of her early days, and that before she lost her reason, she 
was incapable of flagrantly violating conscience. That her 
heart had been allured into vanity — that her mind was 
unstable, and that her last act is one which every Christian 
must shudder to contemplate, the dying woman feels ready 
to acknowledge ; yet she cherishes a hope that you might 
exculpate this poor girl’s memory from any more aggravated 
crime. Is there one amongst you. then, who will say 
whether the most trifling circumstance can be mentioned 
which might give peace to her expiring parent? If you ary 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


320 


moved by the thought of a mother’s agony— if you are 
touched by the remembrance of her young and lovely daugh- 
ter, brought at once to shame, insanity, and death — I 
solemnly adjure you to confess whether private malice, or 
personal guilt, induced you to blast the good name of this 
unfortunate girl, or whether you believe any one else to 
have done so falsely ? v 

Silence reigned throughout the room for some minutes, 
while every eye instinctively turned on Pauline ; but though 
she trembled and became pale at the mention of Nanny’s 
death, it seemed evident that nothing which had been said 
reached her feelings. Unable to look any person in the face, 
she stole a furtive glance around, and fixing her eyes on va- 
cancy, preserved an impenetrable obduracy of appearance. 

“ If confession were made now,” continued Dr. Murray, 
“ we might deal leniently with those who gave such volun- 
tary evidence of repentance — but when legal measures are 
once resorted to, as they shall be, we owe it to public justice, 
that the law, in all its terrors, be fully enforced. Many ar- 
ticles of value belonging to Miss Fitz-Patrick are still miss- 
ing. Mr. Grant is ready to give a warrant that the house 
shall be searched — and before a single individual leaves this 
room it must be done. Let me now appeal to each person 
separately, whether anything can be remembered or con- 
fessed to bring out the real truth.” 

Dr. Murray then began with Mrs. Gordon, and went re- 
gularly along the line, patiently and perseveringly asking 
every individual what might be remembered which bore upon 
the subject in question, and whether, as far as her knowledge 
extended, she believed Nanny to have been guilty of steal- 
ing the articles in question, or not. 

“ Pauline !” said he solemnly, when her turn came, while 
his eye seemed to read her very thoughts, “you, who ought 
to know most on this subject, say nothing! Tell me truly, 
and you shall never have reason to regret the confession, 
was Nanny falsely accused ?” 

With a strong effort Pauline locked up, but her eye fell 
beneath his penetrating gaze, her voice quivered inaudibly, 
and in an instant more, she fainted. Measures were imme- 
diately taken for her restoration, while Dr. Murray proceeded 
with his inquiries. One of the housemaids had twice seen 
Pauline, late at night, near a flower-stand, where some of the 
missing ornaments were afterwards discovered ; while at that 
untimely hour, she professed to have been sent by Miss 


324 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


Fitz-Patrick to cut the geraniums. Sir Richard’s valet, with 
many expressions of contrition for having maliciously con* 
cealed the circumstance so long, acknowledged that he had 
met her dressed in the shawl which Nanny was accused of 
wearing on that evening ; and another maid produced a 
skeleton key which had been found on the floor of the lady’s- 
maid’s room, a short time previously, and it tallied exactly 
with that of Sir Richard’s cabinet. Still, on recovering 
Pauline strenuously denied all knowledge of the robbery, and 
even smiled when the threat was repeated of having a strict 
search immediately instituted. Not a doubt could remain 
on the mind of any one present that she was guilty, but Ma- 
tilda almost despaired of the truth being elicited at this time ; 
and Eleanor covered her face with her hands in agonized 
conviction of her maid’s criminality, and yet completely at 
a loss how to proceed. Dr. Murray himself paused in silent 
perplexity, when Mr. Grant unexpectedly walked forward, 
assuming in his countenance an expression of tremendous 
import. 

“ Pauline !” he said, with grave severity, u I am a magis- 
trate of this county. If immediate confession is not made 
where those jewels are concealed, I shall make you disgorge 
your ill-gotten gains, like a leech on a plate of salt.” 

This oration, so suited to the capacity of his audience, 
had an instant and powerful effect. The guilty woman 
rushed for protection to Mrs. Gordon, who sternly threw 
her off with angry reproaches, hoping she might be instantly 
consigned to justice. Alarmed and overcome, she then re- 
quested that some person would accompany her to an old 
tool-house in the garden, where, beneath several sacks of 
seeds, appeared a small box, containing not only all the trink- 
ets which were missing, but a quantity of money in silver. 
Pauline afterwards confessed the perfect innocence of Nanny 
and her own criminality, declaring that her first irresistible 
inducement to steal originated from Miss Fitz-Patrick’s 
carelessness, who left money frequently loose in her dressing- 
box, or carried it in a reticule, to which any one could have 
constant access. 

No sooner was Eleanor convinced of Nanny’s innocence 
than she insisted on accompanying Dr. Murray and Mr. 
Grant to Gowanbank. It seemed a relief to act rather than 
to think ; and leaning on Matilda, she walked there in silent 
meditation. No sooner did Miss Fitz-Patrick reach the cot- 
tage, than, without losing a moment, or in the slightest de- 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


32£ 


gree palliating her own conduct, she shortly and hurriedly 
related to Martha, and to the aged sufferer herself, all that 
had passed, earnestly and repeatedly assuring them that 
Nanny’s character seemed fully exculpated now in the eyes 
of every one. Matilda felt alarmed to observe the convulsive 
workings of old Janet’s countenance while she listened, and 
the death-like hue of her cheek ; but Eleanor, invariably the 
creature of impulse, could not be stopped, until, having 
reached the conclusion of all that could be said, she sat 
down by the bedside and burst into tears. 

“Now, Janet,” added she, in a faltering voice, “Nanny 
can never grant me pardon in this world, — but will you ? — 
I have caused her death, — I have hastened yours, — and em- 
bittered the remainder of my own days, — but still, as a 
Christian, forgive me, — pray for me, — ask that I may re- 
ceive such mercy as I never showed, — that my whole heart 
may be changed, until I abhor myself, even more than T 
do now. Speak without delay, and give me the only con- 
solation which a remembrance of this hour can ever afford.” 

The old woman feebly moved her hands, and a prayer 
trembled on her lips, which seemed to be one of thankfulness 
and praise.” 

“ All is peace now !” she said in a voice of calm resigna- 
tion. “ My sight has - failed, — my strength is fast departing, 
— and my voice will soon be heard no more ; but I would 
speak comfort to you while breath remains. There are no 
distinctions now, — worldly honors, and worldly afflictions 
accompany us to the borders of eternity, but they leave us 
there. 0 think, Miss Fitz-Patrick, when this hour shall 
come, will all the enjoyments of life prepare you to meet it, 
as sorrow has prepared me ? Then do not regret that my 
cup of trial has been full, — nor that an event like this makes 
you pause to reflect. What are we all so busy and anxious 
about ? — This is the end of all ! ” 

Janet now raised herself on the bed, and held out her hand, 
apparently intending to give Eleanor her blessing, when a 
deep sob stopped her utterance, she shuddered, and suddenly 
her jaw stiffened, her eyes fixed, and in the very act of sup- 
plication she expired. 

When it became evident that all was over, Mr. Grant led 
Eleanor, overpowered by the shock, into another room, 
where, after some time, Dr. Murray followed, leaving Martha 
and William to pay the last duties. Ever ready to take any 
opportunity of impressing on his people how short a passage 


320 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


this life is to eternity, Dr. Murray proposed, before leaving 
Gowanbank, that they should all unite in prayer ; and see- 
ing that Eleanor’s conscience needed not now to be awak- 
ened, he carefully avoided whatever might be peculiarly 
painful to her feelings. It was his rule, in addressing the 
hearts of others, never so much as to remember what were 
their individual offences, but to set before all men alike the 
guilt and danger of every human soul, as well as the abso- 
lute necessity of repentance, faith, and sanctification. On 
this occasion his prayer and address were deeply affecting 
so that Eleanor, unable to speak, took the arm of Mr. Grant 
and left the cottage in melancholy silence. Observing, when 
they reached home, the setting sun shedding its refulgence 
on distant clouds and hill-tops, she paused, and for the first 
time addressed her companion. 

On such an evening as this, Mr. Grant, my mother died : 
and it would have been well for myself and others if I had 
not survived ! There was sorrow then, but it was without a 
sting of self-reproach. She departed in the blessed hope of 
rising again, and pointed to that glorious sun as the daily 
memorial of our death and resurrection. Many a day it 
has shone brightly on me since ; but you know, and have 
seen, what a change it has witnessed on me, and that, forget- 
ful of every serious thought, I have lived for the present 
hour as if this were my eternal home. I could wish, even 
now, that my sun had set like that old woman’s, with the 
same certainty of rising again in glory.” 

During that evening Matilda kept close beside Eleanor, 
and vainly tried to engage her in conversation, for she 
answered absently and indifferently, though with none of 
the harshness or sarcasm of manner which had appeared 
there formerly. A cloud seemed to have come over all the 
party, most of whom were to disperse next morning, and 
Miss Fitz-Patrick rose at last, with undisguised satisfaction, 
when she found it was time to retire. Unwilling to dwell 
on all the painful subjects which assailed her mind, and hav- 
ing never been accustomed to hold serious communion with 
herself, she dismissed her maid, and hurried to bed, eagerly 
seeking for that repose which might bring temporary obliv- 
ion from self-reproach ; but sleep was denied her agitated 
nerves. 

After having tossed in feverish restlessness for several 
hours, Miss Fitz-Patrick struck her repeater, for the twen 
tieth time, and found that it was three o’clock. The smou) 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


327 


dering ashes were expiring in the grate, and a dim rush 
light feebly sent its checkered shadows around — all was still 
and silent as the grave, when Eleanor’s attention became 
suddenly and fearfully attracted towards the door of a dis- 
tant closet. It seemed to be slowly opening, and a tall fo 
male figure appeared there. Emerging from the obscurity, 
she noiselessly approached towards the fire, where, silently 
stooping over its dying embers, she extended her fingers 
above them, as if for warmth, while her hair fell in large, 
dishevelled masses upon her face and shoulders. Petrified 
with horrof and amazement. Eleanor seemed neither to move 
nor breathe, but became stiffened with fear. Half-raised on 
her elbow, and transfixed to the spot, her eyes were fastened 
on the strange apparition with more than mortal apprehen- 
sion. It seemed to Eleanor’s alarmed imagination as if a 
lifetime elapsed while she gazed with awe at this mysterious 
and motionless figure. Unable to endure suspense any 
longer, she at length, by a powerful effort of resolution, 
stretched out her hand to the bell, and rung it with almost 
frantic violence. Instantly a fearful shriek arose, while the 
object of her terror sprung forward towards the bed, and, 
bursting into a wild, hysterical laugh, she fell on her knees 
before Eleanor, who recognized, with astonishment and dis- 
may, the haggard countenance of Nanny. 

When, in reply to a loud and repeated summons from 
Miss Fitz-Patrick’s bell, several servants rushed into the 
room, they found her stretched on the bed in a fainting fit, 
while, fixed and motionless as a corpse by her side, stood 
the unfortunate maniac, her hands clasped, her eyes glazed, 
and her features sharpened with suffering. How she had 
stolen into the house, or where she had subsisted during the 
period of her disappearance, could never be afterwards dis- 
covered, but her wasted figure and emaciated countenance 
bore melancholy testimony how greatly she had endured. 

Nanny was instantly removed, and medical attendance 
summoned, while Matilda devoted herself to the care of her 
cousin, whose feverish pulse and agitated appearance were 
such as to cause extreme solicitude. Miss Fitz-Patrick lay 
for several hours with her eyes half-closed, and every effort 
to soothe or restore her seemed vain. She sighed often and 
deeply without speaking, and only once turned feebly to 
Matilda, and took her by the hand, whispering, in accents 
of emotion, u Let us be thankful that, at least, she is not 
dead !” Miss Howard pressed her hand, and kissed her 


328 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


cheek, in token of sympathy, hut she again relapsed into 
painful, and evidently affecting rumination. 

On the following day, Miss Murray, who had heard of 
Nanny’s unexpected restoration, arrived at Barnard Castle, 
and obtained leave for her being immediately conveyed to 
Gaelfield, where, under careful superintendence, she enter- 
tained a sanguine hope of bringing her back to composure 
and recollection. Meantime, Eleanor requested to see Miss 
Murray, and a long conversation ensued. Miss Fitz-Patrick 
then felt the influence of a mind which, though feeble in 
itself, had been strengthened by Divine teaching, and by 
Christian consistency. She wondered to think that her aged 
companion could have ever appeared otherwise than vener- 
able, and deserving of the highest respect, while she lis- 
tened to her clear views of Gospel truth, and to her gentle, 
admonitory hints for the future. Her heart seemed to be 
melted with sorrow and remorse, which were expressed with 
a degree of freedom and candor, which could not have 
been shown to any one less experienced, or less indul- 
gent, and Miss Fitz-Patrick found relief from having any 
friend to whom her mind might be so unreservedly opened. 

At length Eleanor suddenly announced an intention of 
rising to join her friends in the drawing-room, though every 
imaginable persuasion was used to prevent her. She seemed 
actuated by some powerful influence, and merely said, in 
answer to Matilda’s entreaties, 11 1 shall exert for to-day — 
many of our visitors are to leave this house — and after that, 
nothing will remain for me in this world that is worth a 
thought. I may then reap all the misery that I have sown, 
and even yon must allow it is deserved.” 

There was fever in Eleanor’s eye, and hectic on her cheek, 
when she appeared, and it seemed vain to attempt any dis- 
guise of the deep despondency which weighed on her spirits. 
She neither eat nor spoke during luncheon, while her visit- 
ors seemed at a loss how to act. Lady Montague and her 
daughters were now about to take their final departure, and 
Mrs. Clifford had an engagement to be absent for some 
days. Sir Richard, meantime, stood at the fire in vehement 
altercation with Colonel Pendarvis, on discovering that his 
britschska had arrived at the door to carry off himself and 
Major Foley. Their leave of absence was within a week of 
being out, but still the hospitable Baronet tried to drive a 
hard bargain for that additional period, gradually letting 
down his demand on their time, like a Dutch auction, till he 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


329 


promised at last to be satisfied with one day more ; but even 
that was denied him. Eleanor seemed scarcely conscious of 
what passed, but the gallant Colonel had offered her, on the 
previous evening, to settle at Barnard Castle for life, and 
finding that the proposal was not duly appreciated by the 
heiress, he could not remain another hour. For a somewhat 
similar reason, Lord Alderby also eluded Sir Richard’s 
vigilance, and, feeling exceedingly ill-treated, left Barnard 
Castle during the previous day, without assigning any rea- 
son, or even taking leave, which gave the Baronet a shrewd 
suspicion of what had occurred, and extended that conjec- 
ture throughout the minds of all who observed his Lord- 
ship’s sudden exit. 

Mr. Grant stood at a window alone, watching the process 
of packing Colonel Pendarvis’s carriage, and humming the 
tune of “ Go where glory waits thee,” when Eleanor rose 
from table, and joined him. 

“ I understand,” she said, u that you also leave us to-day ! 
and my father mentions, Mr. Grant, that you have some idea 
of returning to the Continent !” 

£ ‘ Yes ! I intend exploring Greece once more, and getting 
up a little sublime melancholy there, after the pattern of 
Lord Byron. 

‘ Dejected, sad, and lone, and blighted, 

More than this I scarce can die !’ ” 

11 It is well, Mr. Grant, that you can jest upon grief, for 
then it must be lighter than mine. I have lately caused 
such suffering as it makes me tremble to contemplate, and 
whatever be my own share now, is deserved. I cannot, 
however, take leave of one who has so long continued my 

my friend, without saying, that if ever we meet again, 

such a change will have taken place as all who knew me 
lately, and could yet continue to feel any interest in me 
must have desired.” 

“ Let me candidly acknowledge, Miss Fitz-Patrick, that 
in some respects I have thought you spoilt by prosperity, 
but when our cup is full it is very apt to intoxicate the 
strongest head. I dare not even answer for my own, if Sir 
Evan were to give me a step. Concerning the alteration 
you threaten us with, why, long before my return you will 
probably, like all young ladies, have changed your situation 
for better or for worse ; therefore, as an old, and very sin- 
cere friend, my fervent hope is, that whoever may be happy 


330 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


enough to obtain the preference, shall prove himself de* 
serving of you — not on account of his rank, his wealth, 
or his property, but for his disinterested attachment to 
yourself . ” 

“ No, Mr. Grant, that can never be now ” replied Elea- 
nor, in a tone of deep emotion, which it was impossible to 
misunderstand. I long since alienated the only person on 
earth who might have answered your description, or who 
could have ever been truly preferred. While I live, no 
other shall supply that place.” 

Before Mr. Grant could answer, or look round, Eleanor 
vanished, and, while he was yet retracing with surprise . the 
few words she had said, and the undisguised agitation with 
which she had spoken, Sir Richard impatiently beckoned 
him to join in an excursion to the stable. There, for the 
fiftieth time, an elaborate discussion ensued upon martin- 
gales and patent bridles, fast-trotting and leaping, spavins 
and broken knees. 

“ 111 tell you what it is, Grant !” cried the Baronet, see- 
ing his companion’s eye vacantly fixed for several minutes 
on a dead wall opposite, “you are calculating the height of 
that fence, but Mad Tom could clear it perfectly ! As for 
your own chesnut, Harum Scarum, he would go over with 
his legs tied ; and 111 lay a bet that any bullock in my park 
could do the same. For a standing-leap, we might back one 
of thqse clumsy animals against the most thoroughbred 
hunter in your stud.” 

It is wonderful how ignorant people remain of what is 
really passing in the minds of their associates. Sir Richard 
concluded a long interview with Mr. Grant, and set out for 
his ride of some hours, perfectly satisfied that his companion’s 
whole heart had been in their recent discussion, while the 
other slowly and thoughtfully returned towards Barnard 
Castle, to prepare for immediate departure. 

Meantime Eleanor re entered the drawing-room, having, 
by a great effort, rallied her spirits sufficiently to bid adieu 
to her departing guests. She was conversing with Miss 
Charlotte Clifford on Mr. Grant’s entrance, and though the 
color rushed into her face, and receded as instantly again 
when he approached, she resolutely conquered all external 
agitation, and affected a tone of extraordinary vivacity. 

“ Really these incessant leave-takings are too much for hu- 
man nature,” said she, forcing a laugh. “ Poor Sir Colin’s 
last farewell nearly overset me. His old story about Sir 


OR TIIE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


331 


Evan telling bis guests that visitors are like fish, good the 
first day, tolerable the second, and not to be endured the 
third ; which served as the preface to an elaborate apology 
for having paid so long a visitation here, while I was evi- 
dently expected to answer, as of course 1 did, that he had 
been the life of the company !” 

u Fletcher’s existence at home must be very strange,” ob- 
served Mr. Grant. “ I never yet called at his house without 
being shown into the drawing-room, where he is to be found, 
seated on a chair, with his back to the window, his arms 
folded, his legs crossed, and not a thing to see or to do. Not 
a book, nor an inkstand, nor a newspaper — neither dog, cat, 
nor bird, to enliven solitude.” 

“ His thoughts must be less intolerable to himself than 
those of some people I know,” replied Eleanor, mournfully ; 
“ but, after all, such a life reminds one of a wild beast in a 
menagerie, more than of a rational being, who has talents 
and affections to exercise. It is wonderful to what a level 
men sometimes degrade themselves, not merely to animal, 
but actually to vegetable life.” 

“ Yet in society no one is more sociably inclined than Sir 
Colin, which causes one to wonder the more how he makes 
it out alone !” said Mr. Grant. “ Everything that passes 
through his mind must be spoken to the first listener, for he 
has no power of mental reflection. If he has met an acquaint- 
ance, or mislaid a letter, or been annoyed with his valet, or 
traced a figure in the clouds, or a face in the fire, it must all 
be communicaied at our club to the nearest person. One of 
Sir Colin’s most unbearable inflictions, how T ever, remains to 
be noticed. When any person, on whose good-nature he can 
entirely depend, happens to be particularly busy, perhaps 
scribbling some troublesome letter of condolence or con 
gratulation, or reading a book of more than ordinary interest, 
his great delight is, on these occasions, to plant himself 
close by, newspaper in hand, while he intrudes little para- 
graphs on their notice perpetually. I watched Miss Howard 
suffering under the infliction this morning, in passing through 
the library, and it might have made an owl die of laughing. 
She seemed writing against time to catch the post — we all 
know that her letters are not of every-day interest, and she 
had evidently secured a swarm of franks from Sir Alfred, 
who was writing also. Sir Colin began with calling your 
cousin’s attention to an alarming fire in a gas manufactory, 
where happily no lives were lost — then followed the particu 


832 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


lars of an unfortunate climbing-boy sticking in a chimney 
and of an Irish murder, with all the usual circumstances, — • 
he next proceeded to several advertising panegyrics upon 
new books, and was in full career through the prospectus of 
a Newcastle railway, when Martin paraded in with the post- 
bag for letters. I observed Miss Howard hurriedly seal the 
only cover she had time to fill, while Sir Alfred quietly stole 
away the remaining franks, altered their dates for to-morrow, 
and silently replaced them. Nothing could be more brilliant 
than your cousin’s smile of surprise, when she found the 
covers all transformed so unexpectedly.” 

It was a strong proof of Eleanor’s being greatly changed, 
that she neither seemed piqued nor displeased at the termi- 
nation of Mr. Grant’s narrative, but spoke of Sir Alfred’s 
engagement to Matilda with an appearance of such real 
satisfaction, that it became obvious how mistaken any conjec- 
ture must have been which supposed that she had been her- 
self attached to him. Lady Montague and Mrs. Clifford 
now successively bid her farewell, but as the hour of Mr. 
Grant’s intended departure approached, Eleanor’s coun- 
tenance became paler, while she still kept up the farce of 
remarkable vivacity. 

- Quite a small select party !” cried she, entering the 
library with Mr. Grant, to join Sir Alfred and Matilda. 
“ We are reduced now to a mere whist party! — If ever a 
dummy is wanted, I shall be sure of Mr. Armstrong, who 
seems as stationary by our fireside as the fender, and fully 
more inanimate. We hear often in Scotland of a self- 
contained house , but he is the only instance I know of a self- 
contained man ! It is astonishing, that in the inventory of 
fixtures belonging to this house, he was omitted 1 I often 
wonder what brought Mr. Armstrong here, and still more, 
whether anything will ever take him away !” 

• “ A chaise and pair shall this very night,” said the gentle- 
man in question, emerging from the deep embrasure of a 
window, in which he had been reading ; u but, Miss Fitz- 
Patrick, it will be one of the darkest days in your life when 
I leave this house.” 

“ Then I shall have little reason to lament a want of sun- 
shine,” replied Eleanor, sarcastically. u Mr. Armstrong, 
you have been in the habit of using expressions towards me 
lately which are entirely unwarrantable. As the friend of 
Sir Philip, and as my father’s guest, I regret that you 
should have heard remarks which it would give me pleasure 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


333 


to recall, but not on account of any threat or insinuation of 
your own, because nothing you say or do can be of the 
slightest importance to me.” 

“No! — indeed!” cried Mr. Armstromg, ironically ; and 
then changing his tone to one of intolerable anger, he added, 
grinding his clenched teeth together, u perhaps, Miss Fitz- 
Patrick, I could alter your opinion upon that subject. Pos- 
sibly you may not be a fixture here very long yourself!” 

Eleanor eyed him with a look of cold incredulity and con- 
tempt, then sitting down to the harp, she carelessly sung a 
few bars of Rode’s variations, apparently forgetting tho 
very existence of her infuriated guest. Mr. Armstrong 
looked at her for some moments with rising fury. Sud- 
denly wheeling round, he then darted out of the room, and 
as quickly returned, carrying a large packet in his hand. 

“ There !” cried he, hurling it on the table with frightful 
vehemence, “ you will have it so, and you deserve it ! My 
brother was your uncle’s agent, employed to draw up that 
will. He did so only two months before Sir Philip died, 
and it w T as written in order to cut you off, Miss Fitz-Patrick. 
Your satirical wit had not even spared him, and he found it 
out. That deed was dictated in a whirlwind of passion. 
Sir Philip forgot to insert those legacies to friends which he 
certainly intended, and which were recorded in his previous 
settlement. My brother produced only that will which was 
to benefit himself and me. On returning from the Con- 
tinent, I was unwilling to stain his memory by revealing 
this. It seemed probable, also, that Miss Howard, who now 
succeeds to everything, would have engaged to compensate 
my own losses in doing so, but she played her cards better. 
And now, Miss Fitz-Patrick !” added Mr. Armstrong, with 
a look of bitter vengeance, which seemed an ample repay- 
ment for the disgrace of his previous confession, u I know 
from Miss Marabout all you have said of me. She, too, 
abhors your satirical temper, and suffers from it. I told 
her that an ample revenge was in my power. Are you satis- 
fied that it is so ?— read that, and say whether I can do 
nothing of importance to you ?” 

“ Silence, Mr. Armstrong !” said Sir Alfred, rising with 
an air of authority, while lightning flashed in his eye. 
“ This must not be ! — you are in no state of mind to address 
Miss Fitz-Patrick !— .leave the room instantly !” 

Saying these words, he calmly proceeded towards the door 


334 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


with an air of commanding dignity, and throwing it open, 
made a signal for Mr. Armstrong to depart. 

“ Give me my papers, then,” cried the enraged man, rising 
however, to obey a mandate which he saw it would be im- 
possible to resist ; “ I must take back that packet !” 

“No !” replied Eleanor, with a look of stern resolution 
“ these papers belong to me. Gome what may from them, 
justice shall be done, and it is not in your option now, Mr. 
Armstrong, either to bestow or to withhold it. There are 
witnesses enough here to my having retained this packet ; 
and, Mr. Grant, I consign it to you, requesting instantly, 
and without a moment’s delay, to be apprised of its Dature 
and contents.” 

“ Surely not noiv, Miss Fitz-Patrick ? wait till Sir Rich- 
ard returns. Let your father’s agent communicate with 
this person. It is no fit business, apparently, for us to en- 
ter upon.” 

“ I never could endure suspense,” answered Eleanor, with 
a slight hysterical laugh, as Sir Alfred closed the door on 
Mr. Armstrong. “ When once resolved to undergo any- 
thing, if it were the amputation of a limb, every moment 
seems an age till it is done.” 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick,” said Sir Alfred, preparing to leave 
the room, “ let me advise you to postpone all investigation 
at present. Be not rash or imprudent ; you have a parent 
and guardians to act for you, and in all probability this may 
turn out to be some malicious fabrication to serve the pur- 
poses of immediate revenge.” 

“ No, Sir Alfred, I fear it is not. On various occasions 
hints and inuendoes have been dropt by Mr. Armstrong, 
which leads me to suppose that he fully believes his own 
statement. Neither my father nor I could understand his 
meaning, but now it has become plain enough. Let me en- 
treat you to remain.” 

“ Not if you intend to proceed without Sir Richard’s pres- 
ence. It is due to him, as your father and guardian, to be 
apprised of the circumstance before those seals are broken. 
I need scarcely remind your cousin, too, that as a party 
whose interests are apparently involved in this business, she 
would do better not hastily to enter upon it.” 

Miss Fitz-Patrick answered only with a gesture of impa- 
tience, and eagerly tore the envelop asunder, while Sir A1 
fred withdrew, accompanied by Matilda, as she felt the 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


335 


propriety and delicacy of liis suggestion, though sympathy 
for Eleanor would have otherwise induced her to remain. 

“ Mr. Grant,” said the heiress, unfolding an enormous 
sheet of parchment, formally drawn up, and methodically 
sealed with several signatures crowded at the bottom of 
every page, u what am I to think of this ?” 

“ Do not ask me, Miss Fitz-Patrick,” he replied, looking 
away with an expression of grave regret. 

“ It would have been well for me, Mr. Grant, and you 
know it, if I had never succeeded to this property,” said 
Eleanor mournfully. u No one can ever imagine all that it 
has cost me ! my peace of mind, the affection of those who 
loved me most, and every better disposition that I once pos- 
sessed. Can you fear, then, to say that I must lose it? The 
wretched girl Nanny, who is now perhaps dying, scarcely 
felt more misery than I do, for she was free from self-re- 
proach — but when I look at her — when I see Matilda, and — ■ 
and — think of others who have loved me, whom I might have 
made happy, and who are deservedly estranged, I do feel 
reckless of any future evil, and it almost appears as if I 
wished to see justice dealt upon myself. Perhaps when 
sorrow and humiliation are heaped upon me, I may merit 
them less by bearing them aright. What can any external 
privation be now , when I can say, from the agonizing expe- 
rience of my own inward feelings, 1 a wounded spirit who 
can bear !’ You saw the old woman expire with words of 
forgiveness on her lips, but could I forgive myself! You 
watched her daughter delirious with grief and shame, and 
while my senses remain can I forget it ? You observe every 
day, every hour, my generous cousin’s considerate attention, 
but does not that only heaps coals of fire on my head ? These 
are sorrows ! — yet those which strike the deepest can never 
be told to any earthly friend ! Time, talents, opportunities 
lost! — all the impressions of my early days ! — all the bet- 
ter hopes that might have cheered me now ! It seems 
strange, Mr. Grant, why this should be said to you, but old 
friendship may justify confidence, and my feelings could 
never be either concealed or controlled. If there w r ere a 
Protestant nunnery in this country, my state of mind would 
fit me to enter it now, and abjure the world forever.” 

“ Miss Fitz-Patrick !” said Mr. Grant, looking up, from 
a state of profound reflection, u I have heard your senti- 
ments with the deepest emotion, and let me trust that, in 
return, you will listen to mine. We have known each othef 


336 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


from the time when, as a lovely and playful child, you ap- 
peared to my youthful fancy like a bright vision of almost 
celestial beauty. I have contemplated your gradual pro- 
gress with rising interest, though often, I will acknowledge, 
of late with feelings of regret. Who would not have la- 
mented the destroying influence of flattery and indulgence 
on such talents and dispositions as have seldom been equalled ? 
It is impossible to say, Miss Fitz-Patrick, when I first began 
to love you. It was my misfortune to do so then, with a de- 
gree of ardor and enthusiasm which made your very faults 
become dear to me. You know all. You know that though 
my attachment had never been declared, it was deep and 
strong as any earthly feeling has ever been. Your sudden 
acquisition of wealth raised for the time a barrier between 
us, because, young and inexperienced as you were, I would 
not take advantage of our previous intimacy to establish any 
claim upon your affection. What my sufferings were in de- 
parting, no heart need attempt to conceive, for that would be 
impossible! — where honor and principle are at stake, they 
must be preserved, though life itself be the sacrifice ! I re- 
turned, Miss Fitz-Patrick, and found you, as might have 
been feared, the spoilt child of fortune, whom, as you then 
were, I could view with indifference. My spirit is proud 
and independent. I would not be obliged even to you. Miss 
Howard was ill-treated, and it appeared unquestionable that 
the heart which could be so ungenerous to such a friend 
might be equally so to a lover. It is impossible for me to 
know whether, under any circumstances, I could have ever 
become acceptable to you. I do not even ask the question 
now, for what has been said is premature ; but were that 
change to happen which may render others indifferent, it 
might revive many feelings of former days. The chief source 
of your altered disposition will then be removed — the barrier 
which first divided us would fall — and then, Eleanor Fitz- 
Patrick, I would ask to hear my fate. As we are at present, 
1 know it already.” 

He was about to withdraw, and had reached the door, 
when Eleanor, in a scarcely audible voice, called him back. 

“ Mr. Grant !” said she, coloring deeply, and extending 
her hand towards him, “ I would rejoice in the loss of every 
earthly possession if it restored your affection to what it 
was.” 

“ Be mine, then, Eleanor !” said he, suddenly clasping her 
in his arms ; and come what may, we shall be happy.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


337 


Meantime Matilda had proceeded with Sir Alfred to the 
enjoyment of a walk by the river side ; and as nothing in- 
creases the power of pleasing so much as a consciousness of 
success, her conversation never before appeared so richly em- 
bellished with the rare fascination of deep feeling, united to 
right principle, while she spoke, without effort or disguise, 
every passing sentiment of her mind. 

‘‘Matilda!” said Sir Alfred, after many mutual anticipa- 
tions of happiness, “ I have purchased lately a small addition 
to my property near Douglas Priory, to which it is my im- 
patient desire that you shall accompany me soon. Try if 
it be possible to guess where I thought you could be most 
easily induced to go V 1 

“ Can you mean Ashgrove ?” exclaimed Matilda, coloring 
with eagerness and animation. “ Oh ! what happiness !” 
added she, observing the smile with which Sir Alfred be- 
trayed that her conjecture was right. “ My utmost wishes 
are indeed fulfilled, and that place will be doubly dear to me 
now, as a remembrance of your considerate attention.” 

“ Let us hope that I shall always be able to read your 
wishes, and to anticipate them as successfully. I know your 
love for Ashgrove so well, Matilda, that if I had brought a 
bottle of water from the rivulet that dashes past the win- 
dows, or even picked the mud off my chariot wheels there, 
you would have preserved it as a relic.” 

“ Yes ! our earliest associations are always delightful ! I 
have travelled in many lovely scenes since the happy days 
that I passed there, but at Ashgrove and Douglas Priory 
such remembrances are connected with every shrub, and 
every tree, that, in my thoughts, the sun is brighter, the air 
is purer, and the birds sing more sweetly amidst those woods 
than elsewhere. In the words of your own favorite song — 

‘ The last rays of feeling and life must depart, 

Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.’ ” 

“ It pleases me to think, Matilda, that we shall visit to- 
gether the early home where all those amiable qualities were 
first implanted, which shall form the happiness of my future 
life. This world has much to give us now, — it may have 
much to take away hereafter, but we shall not forget under 
any circumstances to prepare for a happier state, where 
friendship and affection, founded like ours, shall at last be- 
come perfect in its nature and unending in its duration.” 

« The desire of my heart is, Sir Alfred, to be indeed all 
15 


338 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


that you think me, and all that you can continue to love , 
but after having so long accustomed myself to banish you 
from my thoughts, how strange it seems that what was 
always so difficult, and sometimes impossible, is no longer 
necessary.” 

“ And yet, Matilda, with every pleasure of life there comes 
a duty ; and for my own part, I now feel that in the purest 
and holiest affections of our nature, there may be a danger 
of excess. It seems, as if in every future hour even sorrow 
itself might be banished by your presence; for I need scarcely 
say that my attachments diverge into few channels, and are 
all the deeper where they flow ; but while mutual confidence 
and love are strengthened by the lapse of years, let it still 
be our care to live not only for each other, but for the best 
interests of all around us, and for the glory of Him to whom 
our whole hearts belong.” 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


339 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


“ Yet ev’ry sorrow cuts a cord, 
And urges us to rise.” 


“ Sudden joys, like griefs, confound at first.” Thus it 
appeared in the experience of Matilda, while seated at the 
window of her own room, in agitated and pleasing meditation 
respecting the happy prospects which had suddenly bright- 
ened on her path ; for still she had that feeling always 
attendant on great and unexpected events, that they can 
scarcely be real. It softens the blighting anguish of recent 
sorrow when our hearts refuse to credit what our senses 
have too surely announced, — and it moderates the first in- 
toxication of pleasure when the fulfilment of hope seems yet 
but a dream of fancy. It is long before even happiness it- 
self can make us happy ; but for the first time Matilda now 
felt at liberty to think, to hope, and to feel as her heart 
directed, while the expectation of present happiness was 
sanctified and enhanced by many serious anticipations of 
duties and trials, in which she should no longer have to act 
or to suffer alone, and of the mutual confidence and sym- 
pathy with which she might hereafter hope to give and to 
receive encouragement in the difficult and dangerous strug- 
gle of Christian attainment. The remembrance of her 
probable succession scarcely crossed Matilda’s mind ; for no- 
thing seemed worth a thought connected with woredly objects, 
but the consciousness of Sir Alfred’s attachment, and the 
recollection of all he had said during their recent interview, 
while he traced out the origin and progress of his affection, 
showing how justly he all along appreciated her motives of 
action, and how thoroughly his preference had been founded 
on principle, and confirmed by perfect esteem, added to 
youthful enthusiasm. 

Matilda’s mind was yet agitated by emotions unlike the 
glassy smoothness and tranquillity of its ordinary state, 
when her attention became slightly attracted by a gentle 
tap at the door. Before she could speak, it was slowly 


340 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


opened, and Matilda, looking hastily round, beheld Eleanor 
standing near the threshold. Her cheek was pale, her eyes 
were downcast, her whole countenance convulsed ; and while 
her lips quivered with a vain attempt to speak, it was evi- 
dent that she had not voice to articulate the words which 
died away inaudibly on her lips. Matilda rushed forward 
and threw her arms round her cousin, embracing Eleanor 
with the most fervent and heartfelt expressions of affection 
and endearment, while tears fell thick and fast from the eyes 
of both. 

“ Matilda !” sobbed Eleanor, “ I repulsed your affection, 
and insulted your feelings, while you were in my power : 
and now, when it can never be repaired — when it should 
have been your turn to retaliate, I come for pardon. Will 
you believe that my repentance is sincere ? Can you for- 
get the past, and love me as formerly? I know your 
generous mind, and that you will neither say a word, nor 
think a thought, that could hurt my feelings. Oh, Matilda !” 
added she, burying her face on her cousin’s shoulder, and 
weeping without control, “ say that you forgive me — that 
you do not suppose the discovery of this day causes my dis- 
tress — that all your injuries are buried in oblivion — that for 
the sake of our early attachment, and of the departed 
friend who blessed us both, you will believe my repentance, 
though late, to be sincere. Our situations are changed — let 
me learn from your kindness a continual lesson ho\y I ought 
to have treated you — let me humbly endeavor to acquire 
the same spirit with which you bore every trial, and let our 
future lives teach me in what way I might have better de- 
served your friendship.” 

Eleanor spoke with such rapidity and vehemence that 
all Matilda’s attempts at interruption were vain, but she 
still riveted her arms round her cousin, and wept like herself. 

Dear — dear Eleanor,” said she warmly, “ if there are 
any trifles in our past intercourse, which either of us might 
wish to forget, we must think and speak of them no more.” 

“ You may forget — but I never shall! — oh no, Matilda! 
let me remember them forever ! Any bitterness which may 
be mingled hereafter in my cup of sorrow, must be received 
with a humble remembrance that I was tried by prosperity, 
and that it would have corrupted and destroyed me.” 

“ Indeed, dear Eleanor, that is a dangerous test to us all ! 
and while we mourn for the insignificant oversights which 
may occur in an earthly friendship, how deeply should wo 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


841 


botli lament to think of our Omnipotent benefactor and 
friend, who has loaded us with so many benefits, and whom we 
are still so prone to forget. Towards him only , dearest Elea- 
nor, you can never overestimate the penitence that we owe.” 

u True, Matilda ! and all has been done as you wish. I 
made confession to God before another thought was permit- 
ted to dwell in my mind, praying that he would grant me that 
true, deep, and influential repentance which shall never need 
to be repented of. Once already I experienced the deceit- 
fulness of my own heart when my mother died, and a few tears 
of penitence seemed then an undoubted evidence of conver- 
sion, — even yet, Matilda can I hope that, though pierced to 
the heart with a consciousness of sin, better feelings will 
arise ? Alas ! perhaps the weeds may be rooted out, and 
only a blank remain.” 

“ Eleanor ! we were both often taught that every soul 
which shall be saved is twice created, — first with the love of 
this world supremely governing our hearts, while it produces 
an aversion to every devout feeling, — and afterwards the 
Holy Spirit changes all this into penitence, belief, and obe- 
dience. We might wonder sometimes at the wide devasta- 
tion of sorrow in every house and in every heart, were it not 
evident that affliction is the most ordinary means by which 
grace is ordained to sanctify nature. Moses entered a cloud 
before he was permitted near access to God. David con- 
fesses that before he was afflicted he went astray ; the prodi- 
gal son would have lived always estranged from his father’s 
house but for sorrow ; and as Elijah was carried to Heaven 
in a chariot of fire, it seems generally some fiery trial by 
which our hearts are first elevated above this world. I re- 
member hearing of a good divine who said, on his death-bed, 
that he never attained to perfect peace until he felt thor- 
oughly convinced that there was ‘ no happiness for him in 
this world.’ While building upon any mere worldly foun- 
dation, we do but build upon a wave ; how thankful then 
should we be for any chastisement that shows its real in- 
stability !” 

“ Y es, Matilda ! it is the privilege of established Christians 
to know for certain, that all the gifts bestowed upon them 
are a blessing sent from God ; and all that are taken away 
are likewise an advantage, for they are given or withheld by 
Infinite goodness, as well as Infinite wisdom. 

‘ Who sees not Providence supremely wise, 

Alike in what he gives, and what denies V 


342 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


Now, Matilda, tell me, for the time is fitting, what was that 
message from our beloved aunt which you once so affection- 
ately importuned me to hear ? She first taught us, that 
God’s mercies do not flow most on the shallow, sparkling 
channel of prosperity, and how truly it has been so with me ! 
I did experience yesterday that prodigious capability of 
wretchedness which lives within the corrupted heart of man 
while seeking rest and finding none ; but now the iron band 
which chained my better feelings appears to have suddenly 
burst, the cloud has passed from my eyes, and, by the shock 
of many events which have crowded on me, I seem at once 
restored, and in my right mind !” 

“ Then, indeed, the 'prayer of Aunt Olivia is answered, 
and you are happy, Eleanor !” said Matilda, again embracing 
her cousin. u How often we are enjoined to c watch and 
pray ! ! but those who pray, and watch for the answer, cannot 
long continue to doubt how greatly the intercessions of the 
righteous prevail. We are both living evidences that the 
effect of His people’s supplication is not limited to their own 
individual happiness, nor to the term of their lives, but that, 
in the experience of devout Christians, that promise shall 
be realized, — £ I will bless you, and ye shall be a blessing.’ 
Above all things, Eleanor, we must persevere in prayer, 
which is so essential and so powerful an assistance in life, 
that it was truly remarked, — ‘We cannot possibly both 
continue to pray and continue to sin.’ The strength of our 
earthly attachments will also be an additional motive to ar- 
dor in the cultivation of holiness. Every thought and feel- 
ing of our hearts should originate in one common source, 
and return, like the sun’s rays, to one glorious centre ; for 
what does our frail, transitory life possess, to give it interest 
or dignity, but that only object which should be dear to our 
hearts — the glory of God, which leads us, as our sole means 
of promoting it, to be diligent and persevering in our desire 
for the salvation of ourselves and others ? Dr. Murray once 
told me, that if ever he indulged a momentary carelessness 
respecting the salvation of his people, he had but to imagine, 
for one moment, the day of judgment, and the look of mute 
despair with which a condemned soul shall hear the sentence 
of his Maker. An expression of speechless anguish then 
seems turned on himself, and he feels as if to rescue one 
single fellow-creature from such unending wretchedness 
would be worth the sacrifice of every earthly joy. It was 
this feeling of compassion, carried to a Divine extent, which 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


343 


caused the Son of God to pity our lost condition, and to die 
that we might be enabled to shun such anguish ; and there 
is not one human soul among the thousands in Heaven who 
had not sinned beyond all hope of pardon, except through 
that sacrifice and propitiation of our crucified Saviour.” 


344 


MODERN SOCIETY. 


CHAPTER XX Y. 


u How vainly, through infinite trouble and strife, 
The many their labors employ ! 

Since all that is truly delightful in life, 

Is what all, if they please, may enjoy.” 


u Matilda,” said Eleanor, taking her cousin by the hand, 
when their interview was nearly over, “ I trust we shall both 
live to see the permanence of my present feelings and res- 
olutions, though it is easy to feel a desire for holiness, and, 
oh, how difficult to attain it ! During the next year I have 
resolved to live in retirement and meditation, while pursu- 
ing such a course of reading as our adviser and friend, Dr. 
Murray, may suggest. Meanwhile,” added she, losing the 
paleness of her cheek in a deep glow of carnation, u it is 
Mr. Grant’s intention to travel on the Continent. He has 
been urgent with me to accompany him there, but my heart 
must not yet be trusted with happiness. You know, Matilda, 
how truly he was preferred to all others ; and my father 
having consented, I shall soon exchange the gilded misery 
which lately cheated me of real peace, for a moderate fortune, 
and as much earthly happiness as can exist along with the 
remembrance, which shall remain forever, of past follies, and 
of worse than these, ingratitude, selfishness, and sin.” 

When Matidla proceeded on her way to the saloon, before 
dinner, she was called by Sir Richard into his sitting-room, 
and her heart sunk with apprehension respecting what he 
might say of the recent discovery by Mr. Armstrong ; but 
he held out his hand to her with an expression of kindness, 
though of extreme gravity. 

“ My dear girl, this has been a surprise to us all ! You 
need not be told that it is as great to me as to any one. I 
shall, of course, defend your cousin’s claims with all the 
energy in my power ; but if Sir Philip’s subsequent settle- 
ment be found good, then I shall yield without regret to one 
who is scarcely less dear to me than Eleanor herself. You 
deserve my affection, but prosperity tries us all, and no doubt 
your head will become as giddy on the pinnacle as your 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 


345 


cousin’s. We must allow, entre nous , that she became rather 
spoilt. Be ready to start with us for Edinburgh to-morrow, 
and in every sense, I think your father will meet with a 

surprise .” 

On the following week, Mr. Armstrong’s packet being 
put into the hands of counsel, all the ingenuity of man could 
not discover a doubt of Sir Philip’s last will being valid. 
For once there seemed no occasion to complain in Scotland 
of u the law's delay." Matilda Howard was not destined, 
like many, to grow old in seeking for her rights, and after 
lingering in weariness and suspense till she outlived the pos- 
sibility of enjoying them, to receive what is called justice , in 
being allowed to bequeath for others the possession of that 
which ought to have embellished her own existence. After 
a short period of uncertainty, she received a visit from Sir 
Richard, to announce, in terms of affection and kindness, 
that Eleanor’s claim was, by the concurrent advice of the 
Solicitor-General and many other legal advisers, finally re- 
linquished. 

Every event happens unexpectedly, and even those which 
we have daily considered for years, come when least antici- 
pated, and cause the same astonishment as if they never were 
supposed possible. Mr. Grant had been thinking rather less 
than usual about the state of Sir Evan’s health, when one 
morning, about this time, he received letters sealed with 
black, to announce that a sudden fit of apoplexy carried him 
off one day while sitting after dinner. As he had been 
struck speechless at once, no opportunity occurred of ac- 
knowledging any marriage to the mother of his children, a 
manoeuvre which he always proposed to execute at the last 
moment, thus intending to continue her dependence on his 
humors while he lived, and still to enjoy his cherished de- 
sire of vengeance on his nephew. Mr. Grant could scarcely 
be expected to drop a tear over his uncle’s memory, before 
he blotted him out forever ; but he hastened to pay Sir 
Evan’s remains all the decencies of respect, and to make a 
liberal provision for his numerous and dependent family, 
each of whom were subsequently established in a profession. 

Before setting out to attend the funeral, Mr. Grant re- 
quested an interview with Miss Fitz-Patrick, and pleaded 
his own cause with impassioned eloquence and genuine good 
feeling, till he at length extorted from her the promise he 
asked. Eleanor consented that the retirement and privacy 
to which she had devoted the following year, should be found 


340 


MODERN SOCIETY, 


at Clanpibroch Castle, where he assured her that the 
counsels of Sir Alfred and the convictions of his own mind, 
prepared him to occupy his future life in seeking that great 
object of Christian hope which had now attained its su- 
preme value in the eyes of both. 

Every reader of newspapers must have observed, in the 
Morning Post of Thursday last, the announcement of two 
marriages in high life, by the Rev. Dr. Murray of Gaelfield, 
Sir Thomas Grant, Bart, of Clanpibroch Castle, Inverness- 
shire, to Miss Eleanor Fitz-Patrick ; and Sir Alfred Douglas, 
Bart, of Douglas Priory, in Mid-Lothian, and Bowmont 
Manor in Yorkshire, to Miss Howard, the lovely and ac- 
complished heiress of Barnard Castle. Among the company 
present we observed Lady Susan Danvers, Lady and the 
Misses Montague, Hon. Mrs. Clifford, Miss C. and Miss A. 
Clifford, Miss Murray, Miss Porson, Hon. Col. Pendarvis, 
Major Foley, Sir C. Fletcher, Captain M‘Tartan, and a 
numerous party of distinguished friends. 


Among the on-dits in society it is currently reported that 
Lady Susan Danvers, once listened herself into the good 
graces of Sir Colin Fletcher with such persevering patience 
that, though a single yawn would have ruined her prospect 
forever, he actually, with much circumlocution, came at last 
to the point. The fair lady, having long had a ready-made 
attachment at the service of any very eligible match that 
offered, was found propitious on the present occasion, and 
lawyers and milliners are already in the full activity of pre- 
paration. 

Captain M‘Tartan was the only man at the Senior Uni- 
ted Service Club who perceived much cause for astonishment 
when he one day found himself unexpectedly promoted to 
be an admiral and honored with a Guelphic ribbon, in conse- 
quence of his spirited conduct on board the t£ Champion, 74,” 
of which particulars were given in his dispatches, dated the 
15th September. Sir Donald M £ Tartan, having been little 
on shore, is firmly persuaded that every young lady has 
much the same characteristics — that they are all good tem- 
pered, lively, fond of music, dress, and gayety — ready to 
marry the first man who asks them, and so smitten with 
epaulettes, that they will admire one on naval-blue shoulders 
when not to be seen upon scarlet. Since he became an ad 


OR THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. 347 

miral, Miss Charlotte Clifford, who, to the certain knowledge 
of her numerous confidantes, had already refused or dis 
couraged every other gentleman living, seemed in danger of 
finding it necessary to be in love with Sir Donald, when, to 
her great surprise, he announced an engagement to Miss 
Adelaide Montague. 

Major Foley, having been quartered in Ireland lately 
with his regiment, was filled with dismay one morning to 
find that his little, well-turned compliments, and trifling ci- 
vilities, were carefully registered in the heart and in the 
head of a fair Hibernian, possessing, among other irresistible 
recommendations, a squadron of brothers. Having been 
assured by them in strong terms of the pleasure with which 
they all anticipate a nearer connexion, he has found it im- 
possible to disappoint them, and the marriage will take place 
at Tipperary without delay. 

Colonel Pendarvis succeeded lately to Yorkton Abbey 
and the accumulated hoards of that avaricious old aunt, 
respecting whose penurious habits it had formerly been his 
amusement to relate so many anecdotes ; but with the estate, 
he seems to have unexpectedly inherited all her saving pro- 
pensities ; and the very customs which he criticised in her 
have been, almost without exception, adopted by himself, 
while they are observed with ridicule and contempt by his 
younger brothers. 

Nanny Muckleraith is at last restored to perfect com- 
posure and peace of mind. She can bear to see Martha the 
happy wife of William Grey. She has even learnt to rejoice 
in their contentment ; while she devotes her own time to 
the charge of a school lately established in the village of 
Clanpibroch, where in useful and active employment she 
finds a degree of happiness never experienced before. The 
only fault her scholars find with their teacher is on account 
of her being extremely rigid about discouraging all excesses 
in dress, and invariably confiscating the necklaces of glass 
beads and the gilt ear-rings in which the girls delight to 
adorn themselves. 

Dr. Murray, it is whispered, will probably be Moderator 
of the General Assembly next year ; and as no event of equal 
importance ever occured before in the annals of his sister’s 
life, he has found occasion to exercise the most indulgent 
forbearance in suffering a multitude of pleasing anticipations 
and active preparatory measures, with which she is already 
persecuting his few hours of leisure. 


348 


MODERN SOCIETY. 


Mr. Armstrong is commissioned, by a friend who enter" 
tains the highest opinion of his taste and judgment, to 
choose some first-rate pictures abroad, for which first-rate 
prices will, of course, be exacted ; and he has lately been 
exhibiting one or two “ perfect gems” in London, which the 
Duke of Cairngorum and other connoisseurs pronounce to 
be chefs-d auvres , beyond all price. 

Miss Marabout and Miss Porson are both at present look- 
ing out for situations as “ finishing governesses,” having each 
obtained the most satisfactory testimonials from a variety of 
distinguished families, to whom references can be given. 
Both profess to teach all the usual branches of education, 
music, drawing, and languages, besides every kind of useless 
vr useful knowledge, and also, as Miss Marabout expressed 
herself- — 


“Principles of course. 






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